The Lost Memoirs of Champion Hawke
by Emros
Summary: While on the run, Hawke ponders over how much coin she'd make selling her memoirs. Fenris makes the critical mistake of asking her to share her story... FHawke/Fenris HIATUS
1. Intro

The Lost Memoirs of Champion Hawke

Description: The true story of the Champion of Kirkwall, told by Hawke herself. Varric was kind enough to leave out the embarrassing details, facts that were left in her memoirs. These writings disappeared with Hawke. Until now. This is the very personal story of a silly, silly battlemage. Not to mention a few flavorful excerpts added by Isabella.

Rated M: Gore, language, disturbing people and themes of… adult natures. Ahem.

Author's Notes: Some of Hawke's speech and personality are based on my outrageous imaginings and reactions when I first played Dragon Age II. I giggled myself silly at so many things. (Isabella and Fenris banter is an apt example. Hell, Isabella banter with anyone, really.) I also felt like some things were missing or unsatisfying. I needn't say that this story contains heavy spoilers! Anyway, I just felt the sudden need to write about what sassy Hawke thought about her crazy friends and adventures. Thus, Hawke's Memoirs was born. Also, I'm writing quickly and informally, so if it's littered with mistakes, I apolojize.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragon Age franchise. And honestly, I wouldn't want to. Us Bioware fans are hard to please.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen over the camp. Hawke sat on a ruined column of an old, crumbled tower. The moonlight washed over the bound writings she held in her lap. Orange light flickered as the fire started, cackling as it came to life. She looked up, staring at the elf's back.<p>

"Finally got it started, did you?" she asked.

Fenris stood up and walked towards her, smiling with his usual crooked lips. "It's not my strong suit, I'll give you that," he said.

"At least you _can_ cook. I burn everything I touch."

He sat beside her, glancing at her past loose strands of white hair. "At least you admit it."

She laughed, tempted to shove him for his quirk. But, she noticed how stiff he was, and refrained. Even now, he still erected old and wounded barriers.

"Just for that, we're having fish for dinner," she huffed.

A shudder shot down his back. "Alas, bread is all that remains," he said, sounding somewhat relieved.

"Bread?" she crinkled her nose. "What can you make with just bread?"

"Toast?" he shrugged.

She chuckled and shook her head, returning to her writings. She felt warm from a sensation other than the fire. It was nice to have him at her side when everyone else had parted ways. She didn't want to be alone.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

"Something you can't," she replied smartly.

He scowled, shooting her a glare and she let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry… was that the wrong answer? I meant to say, 'my journal, dear,'" she corrected, smiling sweetly at him.

"Your journal? Still mulling over the events at Kirkwall?"

She sighed and looked up at him. His olive green eyes were focused and analytical. He was always such an observant elf. "I miss them, in a way," she admitted.

"Even Isabella?"

"Especially Isabella!" she laughed, thinking back to the savvy pirate. "Say, do you think I'd make any coin selling my memoirs?"

He glanced down at the mess of pages. "Doubtful," he said.

This time she hit at him, but he caught her hand, throwing her a warning glance.

She froze under his look, his gauntlet cold and smooth around her wrist. It felt like ice and sent a chill up her arm. Maker, she loved it when he gave her his "don't you dare" look. A huge grin spread up her face. "What, aren't you going to growl?" she purred.

"No." He swiftly released her.

"Aww not even a little one?" she pouted. "For me?"

"Hawke…" he said warningly, giving her a stern look. Ah, she loved that one too, but it usually meant an end to her amusement.

"Fine, fine!" She threw her hands up in the air. "I get it, we're on the run! There's no time for fun and games. If I'd known being on the run was so dull, I would've stayed in Kirkwall."

To her surprise, he set his hand atop her knee and smiled at her, locking her gaze with his own. "I can imagine no one better to suffer it with." A blush spread up her cheeks and her heart quickened until it hammered against her chest. "I may have judged your memoir too soon," he admitted, his voice low and rumbling. "You should read it to me."

She gawped at him with parted lips and her blue eyes shimmered with growing excitement. A mischievous smile crept up her face, and he felt a tinge of regret tug at his thoughts.

"Very well... Just remember you asked for it," she hummed, pulling out the first page.


	2. Act I, Scene I

Act I, Scene I

"Escape"

* * *

><p>The Darkspawn charged through the mountain pass, waving their weapons and hissing like mutant snakes. A sharp toothed creature leapt at Hawke. She raised her palm and blasted it with a condensed ball of energy. Its head exploded, its contents splattering her face and clothes. She wiped the sticky, black blood from her brow and tossed her dirty blonde hair behind her back.<p>

"Behind you!" Bethany called out to her.

Hawke swung around to meet the flanking monster. With a cry, she sliced across it's blackened flesh, cutting its throat. It gurgled, twirled like an estranged dancer, and collapsed atop a growing pile of bodies.

"Sister!" she cried, grabbing her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Her breathing was too heavy for her to answer, so she merely nodded and gave a weak, bloodstained smile.

Safe for the moment, the family regrouped. Carver helped their mother, Leandra, to her feet. She was trembling with fright.

"We need to keep moving!" Carver pressed.

"Where? We can't just keep wandering aimlessly!" Bethany countered.

"Sure we can," Hawke jived, "it's in our blood, isn't it? We like to wander."

"Not all mages like to flee, it's just better than the alternative," her sister said crossly.

"Children! Stop it! Listen to your sister!" Leandra pleaded.

"Even though she's the most childish one here?" Carver snapped.

"He… does have a point, mother. I'm not exactly the striking image of authority."

Growls interrupted them from their little chat. "More Darkspawn!" Bethany cried out. "We need to run!"

"No! We can fight!" Carver said, gripping his sword and falling into a battle stance. Hawke wondered at the back of her mind if her siblings were bipolar.

"Can we? All I can do is that weird little energy thing father taught me," she admitted. She wished their father were here. He'd be able to blast these creatures with magic straight from his pinky finger.

The Darkspawn rushed their position, and they had little point to arguing about it. They fought them off, even more exhausted and bloodied by the end of it.

Too tired to argue, her siblings and mother followed her down the path. She had no idea why that had elected her to lead, she found it all quite bothersome. But, they needed her. As much as she joked, she was terrified of letting them down. A cold fear threatened to crush the bemusement of her heart.

The family ran into a templar named Wesley and his wife Aveline. The man had been badly cut. After they rescued him, he stomped over to Bethany, glaring daggers at her and her staff. "Apostate..." he hissed.

Hawke intercepted him. "You're pushing your luck, templar," she warned. "You can't fight and now you're threatening my sister. So far you've given me two reasons to kill you."

"You will do no such thing!" Aveline barked. She held Wesley back. "Please, dear, they saved us! The Maker understands."

He firmly took his stance. "The Order dictates!"

"Well, my Order dictates to kick your ass and leave you to the horde. See? I can do it too."

He growled and instead turned to Hawke. "You're also a mage, aren't you? I can practically smell it off you."

"Sorry, that would be the sweat and Darkspawn blood. I haven't had time to bathe."

"I suppose you expect me to turn a blind eye just because you saved us!"

"No, that would only repay a portion of what you owe. Unless you're saying your lives have less value than us nasty little mages?"

The two began to violently bicker until pulled apart by their respective families. They glumly agreed to cooperate, learning that the North had been cut off by the horde.

"South it is," Hawke said, sauntering off. Her group exchanged glares and glances before silently agreeing to follow her lead.

The path ahead was suspiciously lacking in Darkspawn. They arrived in a clearing at the base of a cliff. Tainted creatures began to pour in through the passages. It seemed a feasible task until an ogre charged them, roaring and spitting from its rot smelling jaws.

Bethany pushed her mother back and held up her staff. "Stay back, monster!" she cried, shooting a flare of fire at the beast.

It cried in pain and lunged at the mage, lifting her into the air.

"Sister!" Hawke cried out, slicing through creatures as she struggled to make her way through.

The ogre smashed her into the ground, her blood splattering the Blightland. Her scream was cut short and she was thrown against the cliff.

"Bethany!" Leandra cried, running over to her daughter, collapsing at her side.

Hawke watched in horror, craning her neck over the Darkspawn, slicing one down, trying to see if she yet lived. The ogre turned its attention to her, kicking out and sending its own allies flying. Its beady, black eyes regarded her with hunger and bloodlust. It was a stupid creature, with only a thought to kill. Such a thing didn't deserve her sister's life.

She snapped. It was a simple change, as if a trigger had been set, and anger flooded into her heart. She snarled at the ogre and rushed forward, releasing a scream of rage as she blasted the monster's ugly head with a force spell. It recoiled, stumbling forward and leaving itself exposed. She bore her blade and, with all her might, rammed it into its side. It stuck fast, lodged between the thick ribs. The ogre howled in pain.

Hawke mustered all the strength and energy still dwindling in her body. She shoved her hands against the creature's flesh and set it aflame. A fire enwrapped it, crusting the skin, boiling the blood. The ogre buckled and fell, twitching and writhing as the oxygen and water evaporated, as it disintegrated into a charred, skeletal mess.

Sapped of her energy, Hawke fell to her knees, breathing heavily. Carver and Aveline arrived at her side, ready to protect her from the remaining Darkspawn. Even more pooled into the clearing.

"There's too many!" one of them cried. Or maybe it was both. Hawke couldn't tell.

Her vision blurred and swayed. A calmness gripped her as she viewed the chaotic scene behind hooded lids. It was over. And that was alright.

An ear splitting screech brought her back to reality and her vision snapped to clarity. A blood red dragon launched itself from the overlooking cliff, and decimated the remaining Darkspawn.

Hawke was just getting over her shock when the dragon transformed into an old woman with hair sticking out like horns and a tight dress.

"Orlesian fashion?" she muttered weakly as Carver pulled her to her feet.

"Even now you make jokes?" he asked.

She didn't have strength to muster an answer.

Wesley collapsed against the rocks, his wife rushing to his aide. Bethany hadn't moved. Leandra cradled her head, crying into her inky black hair. "The fighting's over, Bethany… you're safe, you can wake up…" Her words were so sure, but her agonized face betrayed her beliefs.

Hawke thought her heart would break. Carver helped her over, and she set a hand upon Leandra's back.

"Mother… Bethany did all she could to save us. We might all be dead, had she not acted."

"I don't want a hero!" she wailed. "I want my daughter!"

She hung her head and pulled away. There was nothing she could say that would make a difference.

The dragon lady introduced herself as Flemmeth. Hawke didn't care, her sister was dead and she was exhausted. However, the rest of her family needed to be taken care of. The responsibility had fallen to her, after all, even if she didn't want it.

Leaning on Carver for support, she conversed with the strange old woman, and secured passage to Kirkwall. Once this was done, she lost all sense of urgency.

"Can you teach me to be a dragon?" Hawke asked airily, her vision fading in and out.

"If only a clever tongue was all that was needed!" Flemmeth laughed, leaving her confused.

"No… I just want to be a dragon, that's all." She rubbed her aching head. "Mm… Hi Carver."

"Err… hello?"

She giggled.

"What?" he asked in annoyance.

"You're an ass," she said, letting out a snort.

"Oh, Maker… Mother, we must get her out of here."

"This child has been through a lot, it seems. Her fortitude has failed her. I wonder if she has the capacity to face what's to come," Flemmeth mused, looking her over. She glanced back at Wesley and walked over to him. "Before we go, there is a matter in which we must attend."

"No!" Aveline said defiantly. "Leave him alone!"

And then Hawke collapsed against her brother, blackness taking her. She awoke in the ship's hold, Wesley and her sister nowhere in sight in the cramped, dirty quarters. Aveline was staring longingly at her husband's shield. Carver comforted their mother. She hugged her knees to her chest and asked nothing of what had happened. She already knew she had failed them, she didn't want to know if they agreed.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: I debated against myself whether or not to include this chapter. Sure, we all know what happens, but I felt it was essential towards establishing this Hawke's personality and foreshadowing how she'd react to what's to come. Just felt the need to point that out, hopefully it wasn't too much of a slow start. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!<p>

Also, I made her a battlemage because my first playthrough was a warrior but I love mages soooo I cheated and combined the two. On that note, how the hell does mage Hawke parade around the gallows waving her staff under templar's noses? It made no sense, so I gave her a sword. I also gave her some disadvantages to balance that out. She isn't a tank and her magic is limited. OK, the next chapter will get some balls rollin'... heehee.


	3. Act I, Scene II

Act I, Scene II

"Welcome to Kirkwall"

* * *

><p>After four days of waiting, The Hawkes and Aveline managed to get a hold of Gamlen. Unfortunately, they soon learned the Amell estate had gone to the dogs. After he presented his plan, he pulled Hawke aside.<p>

"Leandra would kill me for telling you this, but there's another way to get the lot of you in," he said.

"An illegal way, I take it?" she clarified cheerfully.

"An easy way. You should be grateful one even exists. All you have to do is meet a noble; goes by the name Lars Fathius. You do one simple job for him and your ties'll be cut. Nice and clean. It's a demanding job, but I put in a good word for you."

"And why would mother kill you if she knew you told me?" she asked suspiciously, crossing her arms.

He wrung his hands together. "Well, for one thing, you'd have to go alone. He only wants to meet one of you, doesn't like the idea of being bullied out of his coin, you see." He jabbed a finger at her. "I scurried around getting this opportunity for you, don't muck it up." He walked back to Leandra, who was growing suspicious of their conversation.

Carver joined her off to the side. "What did he want?" he asked, his voice slightly accusing. He was jealous of any extra attention she got, be it good or bad.

"Another job opportunity. Apparently it would save us from indentured servitude," she said, heaving a sigh. "I'm going to check it out. Why don't you warm up to Meeran while I run off?"

"Right. Because I'm only here to do your bidding, sister," he complained, heading off to the mercenaries. Aveline wished her good luck and followed suit.

Lars was not what she expected a noble of Kirkwall to look like. He was a short, thick man with dark stubble, buzzed hair and a head shaped like a pumpkin. His arms and ankles were covered with hair. A stale scent emitted from him. Beady eyes looked her over under straight, bushy brows. She scowled. They reminded her of the ogre's.

"Eileen Hawke, I presume?"

Her scowl only deepened. She hated the sound of her name on his voice. "The one and only. Gamlen mentioned you had work for us, in exchange for entry into the city," she said, getting straight to the point. She wanted this over and done.

"Yes. I'm a… collector of sorts. I need someone trustworthy to retrieve a piece that was stolen from me," he explained.

"Alright, that doesn't sound so bad. Where is it?"

"The thief is hiding in a warehouse down by the docks. Whenever I approach, he manages to vanish. I've no doubt he's waiting for a ship to pick him up. It's essential that you go alone. If you can sneak in there, kill the blighter, and take the object I'd be inclined to get you past the gates."

"What's the object?"

"A small, marble statue. It's a figurine of a griffon, made when the Gray Wardens used to ride them into battle. It's not worth that much on the market but it means everything to a humble collector such as myself," he said. She watched his beady eyes and how the focused everywhere but her face. His words barely registered as she was filled with an indefinable desire to punch him square in the jaw.

"Very well," she agreed, grinding her teeth. She turned on her heels and marched off, not wanting to stay in his presence any longer.

Hawke sifted through the angry crowd, not wanting to make herself known in case the thief had a vantage point. Eventually, the crowd thinned as she neared her destination. She slipped into the warehouse, shutting the door behind her.

The room was cold and pitch black, save for shafts of light peeping in through cracks in the ceiling. She slinked along, feeling for boxes. She found none. The warehouse was curiously empty.

A pair of muscular arms wrapped around her, clamping her elbows to her side. She cried out as she was lifted into the air and kicked out madly. A gloved hand covered her mouth, muffling her scream. Another pair of arms struggled with her flailing legs.

"Oy! Relax, girly!" a hot breath hissed against her ear. "It's a fair trade! You come wiff us, and your family gits to be a part of the important crowd!" he laughed crudely. "Come on, lads, rope her up! We gotta keep her in one piece!"

She squirmed in protest, and felt her hair being pulled back. Tears sprung in her eyes as she felt her roots rip from her scalp. The gloved hand squeezed around her face, blocking off her nose. She couldn't breath. She let out a desperate whine.

A blue light flashed by her vision long enough for her to see a splash of blood as one of them men gasped and thumped to the floor.

"What's that? Who's there? Git the men together!"

The man holding her from behind was torn from her and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

She couldn't see anything. She could only hear the cries of pain and the clamor of blades. Occasionally she saw a flash of steel sparks and more blue light. And then nothing. Breath rapid, she stumbled to her feet and brought up her palm, summoning a source of meager light. It flickered as her frantic control waned.

_Come on, Eileen. Remember what father taught you._

She took a deep, steady breath and drew a steady light from her hand. It was enough to see the bloodstains on the ground and the lumps of the men who had attempted to accost her.

"If I'd known you were a mage, I would've let them take you," a deep, throaty voice growled. It was dark and rumbling and sent fear into her heart. She swung towards it. She could make out an intricate array of blue lines in the dark, outlining the distinct form of a man.

She was scared; so terrified that she couldn't think. She fled, scampering away like a frightened dog, tripping and stumbling over the bodies. She threw herself out of the warehouse, stammered by the bright sun and the unexpectedly appreciated scent of filth and clamor of angry refugees.

Now that she was safe, a flurry of anger replaced her fear. She ran along the dock, searching up and down for signs of Lars. But, to her dismay, he was nowhere to be found. She returned to her family, her eyes red, face flustered and aura vengeful.

"There you are! Meeran agreed to- whoa," Carver gawped at her, "what happened to you? Are you alright?" It was rare for him to be so openly concerned.

"I'm fine!" she spat, keeping her eyes off Gamlen. She knew she'd kill him if she saw him. She felt bad at the hurt look her brother gave her. Despite her distress, she had to be strong for her family. They needed her now more than ever. "I'm sorry, Carver," she said sincerely. "I just got buffeted around by the crowd trying to find that damn noble. The important thing is that we've found a way in. Thank you, brother… I…We can begin anew." She turned to her mother, who was staring at her in concern. "I promise I won't let you loose anyone else. Not after what happened to Bethany… I'll watch over you, build us a life. I can protect you, mother."

With that, they entered Kirkwall and settled into Gamlen's dirty house in Lowtown. It was a new beginning, but not for the life Hawke had envisioned.


	4. Act I, Scene III

Act I, Scene III

"Howling Mad"

* * *

><p>The year went by swiftly and before they knew it, their debt was paid. After teaming up with Varric to join Bartrand's Deep Roads expedition, they decided to hunt for coin. Aveline had called in a favor from Hawke so the group went out to police the streets. It was a dark night in Lowtown, the torches flickering like fades drifting the streets. They took out a dangerous group of thugs, one that would've killed the lone patrol had they not intervened.<p>

"This isn't right," Aveline said. "The patrol would've walked right into an ambush."

"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet, Aveline," Hawke said with a thin smile. "We don't know for sure if your Captain is corrupt or just really incompetent."

"With the way he's been running things, I'd go with the latter," Varric chimed.

"You have a point. We'll deal with it tomorrow," she said, rubbing her shoulder. "I'm turning in for the night. Check with me soon, Hawke." She clanked off.

"Will do!" Hawke waved her away. Once she was gone, she stretched her weary limbs, arching her back and twisting her head. Sleep hounded her as well.

"Come on, let's go for some drinks in the Hanged Man. Unless of course you need to get Junior here to bed," he said, jerking his head at Carver.

"Hey!" he protested, shooting a glare at the dwarf.

"It is nearing your bed time, little brother."

"I'm not a child! You two can sit here and laugh all you want, meanwhile I'll be tipping tankards and barmaids," he said indignantly, stalking off.

Alarm and realization spread up Hawke's face. "Wait just a minute, young man!" she called out, running after her brother. "Those harlots' crabs have crabs! And scurvy!"

Varric chuckled amusedly and tromped along at a leisurely pace.

On the way, they were intercepted by a deranged looking dwarf who went by the name of Anslo. He begged them to recover the stolen crate of lyrium and promised to pay good coin for it.

"Do we really have to do this now?" Carver asked exasperatedly.

"I like letting loose just as much as the next girl, but I can't simply say 'no, I'm far too busy being drunk' when coin looks me straight in the face," Hawke said. "That would be Gamlen's job."

And that was that. They changed direction and headed off to the Alienage. There was a remarkable amount of thugs present. It seemed strange that they guarded one meager chest so well, even if it was full of lyrium. The battle was fiercer than expected, but the three quickly felled the criminals.

Then they learned that the chest was empty and their night just got a whole lot better.

"Maker's balls!" Hawke swore when they opened the door, coming face to face with a small army of slavers.

"You're not an elf!" their leader, a rigid woman, exclaimed.

"No shit, Genitivi!" she said. "Do I look like I have pointy ears?"

"No matter. We were told to kill whoever came out- attack!"

By now Hawke was in a dreadful mood. Her drink had been interrupted, and now she had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to get paid. She raised her hands to the sky in full, vengeful concentration.

Fire rained down on the slavers and they all began to run amok, screaming and waving their weapons around as they melted in their hands. Carver and Varric just stood by as she burnt the stragglers to a crisp, yelling and condemning them for her wretched night. "You can pay me in hell!" she snarled as the last of them fell.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," Varric said once the screaming had stopped and Hawke lowered her hands, breathing heavily with a mad glint in her eye. "It seems to be unhealthy."

She turned to him, her face bright. "I just realized! We can sell their loot! Come on, let's nab their stuff!" she said merrily, her tone light and excited.

"Uhm. You go ahead," Carver said hesitantly. "I don't like the smell of burning corpses much."

"Sorry, brother. You know I'm a horrid cook."

A man stepped out from the alleyway, leering down at them from the top of the stairs. His armor clanked as he took each step, gazing over them with a superior expression. Hawke faced him, bringing her hand up to conjure more fire. Energy swirled around her palm, and erupted in a wisp of black smoke that trailed into the air. She quickly hid it behind her back.

"Ha!" Varric barked. "Performance anxiety, Hawke?"

"This has never happened before, I swear! It usually jumps right up!" she exclaimed.

Carver set his palm to his brow. "Idiots..." he muttered.

"I don't know what you're doing here, friend, but you aren't leaving this place alive," the slaver said. "Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing! Now!"

A gagging suit of armor stumbled around the corner, fresh blood dripping from a gaping wound. "C-captain…" the man's knees buckled and he fell forward, sliding and bumping down the steps, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Hawke cautioned her party and readied her blade, her blue eyes narrowing as she peered through the darkness. She didn't know what manner of creature was capable of creating a wound like that, and wasn't willing to take any chances.

"Your men are dead," an elf said, stepping past the body. He had a deep, husky voice, befitting his dark expression. "And your trap has failed." He walked past the man. "I suggest you go back to your master while you can."

She lowered her sword, her lips parting. A number of Darkspawn related monsters had swirled in her mind; she hadn't expected a handsome, white haired elf in spiky leather armor to amble down the stairs. He looked her over, his olive green eyes connecting with her own. She held her head high, getting that little inkling she got when someone was sizing her up.

The man grabbed his shoulder. "You're going nowhere, slave!"

The elf's face contorted with rage. The tattoos snaking up his arms and face emitted a bright, blue light. He snarled and swung around, thrusting his clawed gauntlet straight through his chest. The man buckled to his knees, staring up in agony. The elf tore out his heart, his sharp gauntlet coated and dripping in tissue and blood.

Hawke took a step back and gulped. She regained an assertive footing, watching for any sign of aggression.

"Maker…" Carver breathed, his jaw slack.

The elf turned back to them, roughly throwing the heart to the ground. "I am not a slave," he declared.

Hawke cleared her throat. "Right. Not a slave. I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Anything else I shouldn't call you?"

"Easy, Hawke," Varric warned, gripping Bianca tightly.

He walked up to her, his lips twisted in a frown. He looked her and her companions over. They waited breathlessly for a reaction.

"I apologize," he said, inclining his head.

It wasn't what she expected, to say the least. "Err… that so?" she said, rubbing the back of her neck. Then it clicked. "You're the elf they were after, aren't you?"

"Yes. My name is Fenris." He returned to the body. He bent over it, wiping his hand on the captain's shirt, then rummaging through his pockets. He pulled out a letter. She noticed he didn't read it, but merely looked to the seal. Tossing it aside, he stood to full height.

"It is as I thought. My old master is here," he said bitterly, his brows furrowing.

"Your old master? How do you know?"

"This letter is tainted with his signature. He hoped to lure me here into his trap and reclaim his investment."

"Investment?" she asked, her head spinning. "So… I'm guessing it's safe to assume there was never a job."

"That is correct. I needed a decoy… It is fortuitous that Anslo found someone competent. I had no idea there would be so many guards, and for that I am sorry."

"You know, you could've just told me. I would've helped you."

"Err… you would've?" Carver asked disbelievingly.

"Of course! I just love helping people."

He regarded her carefully. "If the deception was unnecessary, then I apologize."

"You sure have a lot to be sorry about," she mused. "Which is wise. I get cranky when I don't get paid."

"Is that really what you're concerned with right now?" her brother demanded. He paused, reconsidering. "Should I really be surprised?"

"You know me all too well, dear brother."

The elf watched them quizzically, and cleared his throat to interrupt them. "I have to ask, was there anything in that box?"

"Empty, I'm afraid," she said, shrugging. "What were you expecting?"

He turned his head. "I assumed… maybe Denarius used something of mine to lure me into his trap. It was a foolish thought."

"Why did this Denarius go through all this trouble just to capture one lost slave?"

"He's a Tevinter Magister. That should say more than enough."

"Hm I don't doubt his pride's smarting a bit, but somehow I'm guessing there's more to this little story. Does it have something to do with those markings?"

He paced back and forth. "As I said before, I'm his investment. There is… one more thing I could use your help with. If Denarius is here, I need your assistance getting to him before he leaves."

"Really? You _just _finished cheating me and now you want me to run another errand?" She folded her arms across her chest.

Varric stepped on her foot and she winced in pain, shooing the dwarf off her.

"I understand," Fenris said reasonably. "If you help me, I'll do everything in my power to return the favor. This may be my only chance."

She opened her mouth to demand how he thought that was a reasonable request, and then saw how serious he looked. His eyes were locked onto her, his jaw set with determination. She realized that if he was an escaped slave, he wouldn't be used to dealing with people. Or trusting them at all, for that matter.

"Sorry elf," Carver interjected. "We only work for coin."

"I'll help you," Hawke assured, cutting him off.

"Wait, what?" he gawped at her. "Since when are we a charity service?"

"Oh, have a heart, dear brother," she scolded, walking forward. "Lead on, Fenris. I'm guessing you don't want to just talk with this old master of yours?"

"He's been hounding me ever since I escaped. I won't be a free man until he lies dead at my feet. So no, I don't want to 'talk.'"

"Hmm. Well I suppose it would be difficult to chat with his heart ripped out."

"If all goes well. My old master owns a mansion in Hightown. Come, we should pay him a visit before morning."

"What- but I… hey…" Carver babbled as his sister took off with the elf and the dwarf. "Oh Maker's blooming ass…"

Demons and shades prowled the mansion, swooping from the walls and rafters to attack. It was chaos for Hawke, as she wasn't used to fighting them. She noticed Fenris, on the other hand, slicing through and tearing them apart with his free hand. Whenever he did this, the markings on his body would glow as they did before. As they moved through the mansion, she became unsettled by an eerily familiar sensation of fear. She shook it off. She had agreed to help, after all, and would see it through to the end.

Finally they entered the hall leading to the master bedroom. A rage demon burst from the ground, calling forth a number of abominations and undead. They swarmed the group.

Hawke cut a skeleton down, only for it to be replaced with another. A bolt burrowed into its head and it was knocked to the floor, dust shooting from its body like dried blood.

"That's one for the dwarf!" Varric shouted.

Carver was struggling with a group of the beasts, surrounded on all sides.

"Don't fret, brother, big sister's here!" she cried, gathering energy into her hand and launching a fireball. It exploded at the skeleton's feet, sending them flying.

"I was handling it!" Carver shot back, moving on to a pair of abominations Fenris was dealing with. The elf glared at her, his eyes cold and full of malice.

She didn't know if the hatred was directed at her, but he bore it into her eyes until she turned away, the terror rising in her chest.

They took down the rest of the monsters, Fenris tearing through the rage demon's throat with his clawed gauntlet. It pooled to the floor like a bubbling pile of magma.

"Using demons to do his dirty work… pathetic," he spat. He turned to the main doors of the master bedroom and shouted, "can you hear me, Denarius! I'm coming for you!"

He rushed up the stairs, dragging his sword behind him. Hawke gave chase, worried that he was sprinting off into another trap.

He bashed his shoulder into the door. It flew open, slamming against the inner wall. He paced the room like a hungry wolf, eyes glaring into every corner of the room. When he saw Hawke had caught up to him, he turned to her.

"He's not here," he growled. "I'm too late." He ceased his prowling, and sheathed his blade.

"Why not go to him?" she asked.

"That is exactly what he wants. No, I must catch him off guard if I hope to kill him. You can have anything he left behind as payment for your help." He brushed past her. "I need some air," he said, marching angrily down the stairs.

"Well," Hawke sighed, "let's collect what we can and check on the elf."

She tarried a bit, wanting to give him enough time to cool off. It was more for her sake than his, however. When she could wait no longer, she left the mansion to find him leaning against it, his foot brought up to rest on the stone wall. He was staring off into the distance and hardly acknowledged their presence.

"Denarius had these markings branded into my flesh. They've been a taint on my body and soul for as long as I can remember, chaining me to my old master," he said with displeasure. "His thirst for power led him to this, and magic allowed it." He stepped away from the wall and faced her, his eyes narrowing. "I saw you using your powers. You didn't tell me you were a mage," he said in disgust.

She didn't know what to say. How could she excuse herself for powers she was born with?

Carver stepped between them and jabbed a finger at the elf. "Listen, you little bastard, if you have a problem with my sister, you have a problem with me!"

Fenris hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "I… don't mean to sound ungrateful. Quite the opposite, actually. But had I known you were a mage…" he trailed off.

"I would've let them take you…" Hawke muttered, peering at the elf, running her eyes along the pale lines of his markings. They formed a very familiar pattern.

"Huh?" Varric asked, looking up at her. "Where did that come from?"

"Indeed. What are you saying?" He shifted his weight, noticing her eyes trailing the markings up his neck.

"I don't believe it myself," she said, narrowing her eyes, "but we've crossed paths before."

"You must be mistaken. We've never met," he said firmly.

"I didn't say we met. It's more like… you killed a warehouse full of thugs, and I just happened to be there."

"Sister?" Carver asked. "What's this?"

"What are you talking about?" the elf asked, his olive eyes narrowing suspiciously.

She told her brother of the events one year ago, of the job Gamlen got her and how it nearly ended in her abduction.

"So this is Gamlen's fault? Why the hell didn't you tell me?" he demanded angrily.

"Because I knew you'd have that sort of reaction. We needed a place to stay and mother would've never allowed us at Gamlen's had she known."

The situation seemed to click in the elf's mind. "Ah. That scared little mage running for her life was you?" he asked.

"Wha- you-!" Hawke stammered as Varric laughed, peering up at her.

"Scared little mage?" he quoted.

"Well I was- it was dark and-and," she tossed her anger to the elf, "you threatened me!"

"Did I?" he asked in mild surprise. "From my perspective, you overreacted and fled as soon as I spoke."

"Yeah, sure and from my perspective, you emerged from out of nowhere, surrounded by carnage, muttering some hateful statement about letting them make off with me while doing your strange… glowy thing," she ranted, waving flustered hands in the air.

"That doesn't change the fact that I saved your life, albeit unintentionally."

Carver, who's mind had just about popped from registering all of this, took his frustration out on the elf. "If you so much as look threateningly at her, elf, I'll make it so not even the Maker can find what's left of you!"

"Tell me, does your bark match your bite, human?" he growled.

"Wait!" Hawke held her hands up. "Stop, brother. Despite everything, he's not our enemy. And if I remember correctly, he promised to repay us."

"I did. What would you require of me?" he asked, his eyes softening once the danger of a fight had passed.

"We're planning a Deep Roads expedition and need all the help we can get. I've seen your skills first hand, you'd be a valuable asset to the team," she explained.

"Fair enough," he said, inclining his head.

"What? You're taking the murderous elf with us? Alone in the Deep Roads?" Carver gawked.

"Interesting…" Varric mused. "Smart decision, Hawke. We could use him."

"But he hates mages! Who's to say he won't turn you in to the Templars?"

"I won't- without incentive," he said, his eyes cold and analyzing.

"Don't worry, I don't bite," Hawke said playfully. "Or raise the dead."

"That remains to be seen, mage."

She looked him over challengingly. She'd prove she wasn't as weak as he thought. "We've much to discuss, then. Run along, Carver and let mother know where I am."

"Go ahead, junior. I'm off to get that drink," Varric said, marching away.

Carver glowered at the both of them, and turned to leave. "Watch yourself, sister," he warned as he passed, casting one last suspicious glance at the elf.

"Well then," Hawke said, once they were gone. "Let's get down to business."

"Very well," Fenris said, raising his arm invitingly to the door. She entered the mansion, and he closed the door after himself.

It was eerily quiet and serene with the moonlight sifting through the broken ceiling and illuminating the dead bodies along the wall. "Love what you've done with the place," she said offhandedly.

He smiled, his olive eyes swinging like lanterns in the silver light. He led her up the stairs to his old master's room.

The fear from before stirred in her, but she swallowed it down. She was alone with him once again in a vast, empty space. It was nostalgic of the warehouse that year ago, save for a newfound excitement that bubbled within her chest. It told her, quite enigmatically, that this was going to be interesting.


	5. Intermission I

Act I, Scene III 1/2

"What Really Happened"

* * *

><p>And there Hawke was. Alone in the den of the wolf. At first they spoke casually of the expedition, until Fenris brought out some aged Tevinter wine that had been stashed away.<p>

"Care to join me?" he asked in a suave, sexy voice.

Hawke giggled, accepting a bottle and taking a sip, slowly licking her sweetened lips. His eyes hungrily drank her in.

"So about that expedition…" Hawke said, her voice low and sultry. "You will be… coming with me, won't you?"

"Only if you let me lead," he growled.

"Ooh, you can dive right in."

And then they had mad, passionate, mage hating, elfish sex all over his master's polished floor.

-Love Isabella. I _know_ this is what really happened, don't try and deny it.

* * *

><p>Fenris coughed into his gauntlet. "I... don't recall that ever happening," he said slowly.<p>

Hawke didn't reply at first. She was stiff as a board, a red blush spreading madly up her face to the tips of her ears.

"Err… I didn't know she slipped it in," she admitted, letting out a nervous laugh.

He quirked a dark brow and she averted her gaze to the ground. "I like the pictures," he said bemusedly, to which she flipped the page in a flurry. He snatched it from her lap and held it up beyond her frantic reach.

"Fenris! You _really_ don't want to look at those!"

He looked up at the page, hovering just out of her reach. He braced his arm against her to hold her back. His olive eyes scanned Isabella's doodles.

"Hmm… Now these I can read with utmost clarity."

"Fenris!" she cried, grabbing his arm for leverage as she made a mad grab for the page. He growled, his arm darted around her back and pushing her from the ruined column. She landed hard on her back, wincing in pain, Fenris following her down.

"H-hey, get off! Your damned spiky armor is crushing me!"

He hovered over her, his sharp nose at a breath's distance from her own. Olive eyes stared deep into her, locking her gaze. The warm presence of his body sent her into a daze and a tingle shot through her fingertips. The paper drifted to the floor before settling facedown in the dirt. The firelight danced against its fragile form. The edges curled against the heat. He set his lips against her ear and drawled, his breath hot against her skin, "let's try the third one."

Her blush deepened. "The… third one? W-what's that?" she said coyly.

"Don't feign innocence, Hawke."

A nervous laugh escaped her. "Why, whatever do you mean? It's not as if I took the time to memorize eac-mph!"

He interrupted her with a kiss, capturing her with hungry lips. He pressed himself against her, wrapping her in his arms. Her hands snaked up his cold chest plate to the back of his neck, where she pulled him in, her heart thundering like drums in her ear.

In the back of her heavily clouded mind, she made a mental note to thank Isabella when they next met.

* * *

><p>Thanks for the reviews! I'm very glad you're enjoying it so far. (And I agree about the Battlemage! No reason why mages can't kick ass with a blade!)<p>

I loved how Hawke's companions messed with her memoirs in the game, so I decided to include their contributions.


	6. Act I, Scene IV

Act I, Scene IV

"Varying Uses"

* * *

><p>Fenris took a seat at the long table in the quarters, gesturing at the vacancy across him. Hawke joined him, crossing her legs and leaning back.<p>

"So," he said, "tell me about this expedition of yours."

She explained the situation with Bartrand and what they'd be expecting. She also clearly defined the part where they needed fifty sovereigns to seal the deal.

"That would explain your willingness to accept Anslo's offer. This is the second time we've met and, consequently, the second time you've gotten yourself into trouble hunting coin," he noted.

"So?" she said haughtily. "What's your point? Lot's of people like coin."

"True, but such people would never agree to assist an escaped slave, or any task offering little reward. Tell me, what are your true motives?"

She regarded him under scrutiny, wondering why he was so curious. "You're an observant little elf, aren't you?"

He smiled at the description, but said nothing.

She told him of the Blightlands and how she lost her sister while leading her family to safety. Though they were safe, their family estate was lost to them. She spoke of her mother's past and how she left to marry, burning her ties with the Amell's.

"Why did they disapprove? Family isn't something to be rejected lightly."

"Well… my father wasn't very rich. There's that. Oh, and he was an apostate."

"I see," he said simply, his lips thinning.

"Don't speak badly of him," she warned. "He was a good man. He taught Bethany and me how to control ourselves and resist temptation. You know the real nasty, puppy murdering stuff."

"I wasn't about to speak ill of a man I did not know."

"Good. You would've been wrong," she said matter-of-factly.

"So Bethany was your sister? Another mage, I presume?"

Her face fell. "Yes, she was."

"I see. I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's not your fault. She gave her life defending our mother," she explained, averting her gaze.

He was quiet for awhile. "That's… admirable," he admitted, his positive tone surprising her.

"Well, that's it, really. I couldn't care less about the Amell line, but my family needs a place to call home. It'll do my mother some good, for once," she explained. "What about you? What are your plans?"

"I will wait here for Denarius to come for me," he said.

"Ah. He really wants you back, doesn't he?" she asked.

"What if I told you I wasn't exactly what he wanted? It's these markings," he sneered in disgust. "They're the result of his precious experiment. It's likely he'll kill me, and rip my flesh from my bones."

Her blue eyes widened. "That's not how I would put a perfectly adept body to use," she said without thinking.

"Ah." He laughed shyly, clearing his throat against the back of his gauntlet.

"I should get going," she said sheepishly. "Tomorrow we're heading out to the Bone Pit, if you'd like to join."

He shrugged. "It's either that or scour the mansion for Tevinter spirits."

"That sounds preferable, to be honest. Anyway, meet us by the Hanged Man at seven. Varric thinks there're dragons in the mine," she laughed, rising from the chair. "As if that could ever happen."

* * *

><p>A month passed and Hawke was still short on money. She had teamed up with another apostate named Anders and Isabella, an ex captain lacking in both a ship and a pair of pants. The two women were enjoying a drink at the Hanged Man, awaiting the morning when they'd planned to investigate Feynriel's disappearance.<p>

"So, what was your life in Lothering like? I bet you had all the farm boys tromping after you," Isabella said with a grin.

"I wouldn't know, I'm afraid. I couldn't tell the difference between a farmer and his pig."

"Does it make a difference?" she giggled, taking another swig of ale.

She rolled her blue eyes. "To some strange people, I'm sure."

The pirate smiled and leaned back contently. "Every healthy woman needs some kind of outlet."

"I was under the impression that a healthy woman was the outlet," Hawke said with a playful smirk.

"Ha! True enough. Men need to stash something, women need to collect… an inlet, then. Does that make you happy?" She leaned across the table, brown eyes glittering in the firelight. "Have you ever had yourself a good inlet before?"

"I'm not answering that," she said defiantly.

Her eyes widened. "Really? You've seriously never…? No butter for your biscuit? Ship for your harbor? Canon for your porthole? Raider for your cave?"

"W-what?" Hawke stuttered, blushing fervently.

A huge grin spread up her face. "No cork for your bottle?"

"If there's uncorked wine about, I'll have a drink," a familiarly deep voice said from behind her.

Isabella burst into laugher, smacking the table with her hand. Hawke shone a beat red and shielded her face with the palm of her hand. "Now that's a sight I'd like to see!" the pirate exclaimed.

"What?" Fenris demanded with a scowl.

Varric chuckled and joined the two women at the table. "Up for a game of cards, ladies?" he asked, shuffling a deck between his gloved hands.

"Ahhh sure," Isabella said, wiping her eyes. "How about it, handsome?" she looked the elf up and down.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I suppose," he agreed. "If you can trust an elf."

"Oh, I never trust elves," she said illusively.

Varric passed the cards around. They played for awhile; he and Isabella being the only ones winning the pot. In fact, the only one who seemed slightly sober was Varric. It was infuriating to Hawke as couldn't figure out why she was doing so poorly. Eventually Carver came to play. He quickly became very drunk and very angry at his losses.

"You're cheating, aren't you?" Carver accused, glaring at the pirate beside him.

"Oh sweet thing, don't get all holier than thou on me. I saw what you did the other night," she cooed.

"What're you talking about?" he demanded with a scowl.

"Don't play coy. I saw you at the brothel, asking for 'Mistress Fellatio.'"

Hawke spit out her drink. "Carver!" she barked. "What would mother say?"

Varric shook his head. "Don't start a bar fight over this, Hawke. I won't be able to buy the place if you destroy it."

"Oh shuttup, sister!" Carver said, his words slurred. "I'm tired of your disapproving attitude; do you know I had a girl back home? Yeah? Her name was Peaches! And I fucked her behind Barlin's shed!"

"You fucked her behind the shed, or you fucked her behind?" Isabella inquired mischievously.

Fenris took a slightly bigger swig from his tankard.

"Peaches!" Hawke cried. "She probably had syphilis!"

"Ah you say that about every girl!" He dismissively waved his hand in the air.

"That's because there's a chance with everyone! What would mother do if you got syphilis, Carver? What then!"

Isabella, who was very pleased with herself, giggled in her drunken amusement. "This is the most fun I've had in ages!" she announced.

"Can we get back to the game?" Varric asked futilely. "I want to win some more."

"You've no sense, sister! And you! This is all your fault," Carver jabbed a finger at the pirate. "Who're you to judge what I do, huh?"

"No one, I'm just shocked your standards are so low," she said with a shrug.

"You think you're any better?"

"Yes, actually."

"Prove it!"

"Fine then. You asked for it." She grabbed the front of his ale stained shirt and pulled him into a rough kiss.

Hawke's jaw dropped to the floor. She could only let out a slight whine as the two began to grab at each other.

Fenris cleared his throat and signaled the waitress for a bottle of wine.

She slowly pulled back, leaving Carver leaning in for more. She smirked seductively and stood from her seat, running a hand across his chest as passed. She sauntered up the steps, her hips swaying. He followed along, panting like a dog.

"Well, that's… something," Fenris rumbled.

"Did they really...?" Hawke muttered. She turned wildly to Varric. "We have to stop them! Do something, dwarf!"

"Junior may be stupid, but he's a grown man," he said, glancing worriedly at the annoyed patrons. "Come on, let's continue this upstairs. I haven't taken all your money yet."

"But- how can I play games at a time like this?" she demanded.

"Think about it. It'll take your mind off of what's going on in their room right now," he said with a cheeky grin.

"Sounds good to me," Fenris said. "The dwarf's right, Hawke. Your brother's not a child. He can make his own decisions… for the most part."

She gawped at them. "He's only eighteen! I can't believe you… you traitors! Both of you!" she exclaimed, standing up too quickly and stumbling to the side.

"Easy there, Hawke," Varric said, grabbing her arm. "You're letting this bother you too much. Come on, let's keep playing!"

"You just want my coin..." she grumbled furiously.

"Oh come on, how would you like it if your brother kept you from having any fun?" Varric asked reasonably.

"I…" she hesitated. "I would be very appreciative!"

"That's a lie, and you know it," he told her firmly, guiding her up the steps. Fenris followed along, shaking his head disapprovingly. The trio set up their game on Varric's table and continued to play and drink. Hawke drowned herself in her tankard until the room spun and shifted around her. Her blood felt thick and her head filled with air. She rubbed her temples and heaved a sigh. A heavy thump sounded from outside.

Fenris tilted his head to the side.

"What is it, elf?" Varric asked, dealing for another round.

He pursed his lips. "Nothing."

The thumping increased and a stream of gargled moans and groaning filtered into the room.

"Oh, stop your moping, Hawke," Varric said, bumping her elbow. "You know I can't stand to see a human cry."

"It's not me!" she said indignantly. She sat up in her chair, lips tipped in a frown.

"Do the mysterious noises really matter?" Fenris demanded, an edge to his voice.

A distant and muffled scream answered his question. The drunken blush on Hawke's face deepened and she sank her head into her arms.

"I stand corrected…" he drawled, taking another drink of his wine.

"Aww don't be like that, the place is probably just haunted!" Varric said, patting her on the shoulder.

"Gimme that," Hawke muttered, reaching her hand out for the bottle.

"No."

She looked up at him, her blue eyes glazed and wanting. He froze and averted his gaze, bringing the bottle to his lips and tipping his head back. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the drink. She licked her lips.

"Please?" she asked, her voice cracking.

He set the bottle on the table, making the mistake of looking at her. Golden hair fell around her shoulders in a tousled mess. Her lips were bunched in a pout and her cheeks were tinted a deep red. Her eyes, watery from the ale, searched him for any sign of compassion. Releasing a sigh, he passed along the bottle.

She snatched it up and drank the rest of it in one fell swoop. "Hmm… it tastes funny," she muttered, running a lazy finger along her bottom lip. He looked away, deeming it wise to ignore her.

"I think she's had enough. Girl barely knows we're here," Varric chuckled, setting his cards face down. "How about it, elf? You ready to surrender?"

"I do not surrender to dwarfs," he said coolly.

"That's the spirit!" Hawke exclaimed, slamming her fist on the table, startling them both. She pushed herself to her feet. "I'm gonna barge right in there and give him a piece of my mind!"

"That is unwise," Fenris warned.

"Don't do it, Hawke! I'm telling you, it's a bad idea!"

She took one, giant step forward and dropped to the wood floor.

The elf and the dwarf stood up, hurrying over to make sure she was breathing. She gazed up at them through hooded eyes, and pushed herself to a sitting position.

"I'm fine," she said thickly, waving Varric away. She clutched the table's edge and pulled herself to wobbly feet. "I'm going home," she said miserably.

"Oh, no you're not," he said, blocking the way to the door. "You'll be robbed blind if you go out there."

She leaned towards the dwarf so that he caught a full whiff of her alcoholic breath. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I'll be _really _quiet," she promised, putting a finger to her lips.

"You're just full of brilliance tonight," Fenris mocked.

"Oy!" she said, stumbling over to him. "You're just as piss drunk as I am!"

"On the contrary, I'm still standing."

"I'd be quiet, if I was you," Varric warned. Do you really want her arguing right now?"

"No… I suppose not."

Hawke giggled. "That sounds dirty," she said.

The two watched her thoughtfully, puzzled as to what she was referring to.

"Get it?" she said hopefully. "No? Oh, never mind then." The room around her grew dark. The lids of her eyes felt heavy. "Mmm… goodnight." She fell forward.

Fenris, not knowing what to do in such a situation, caught her before she struck the wood again. Her face was pressed to the cool metal of his chest piece and she breathed against it.

"Feels nice…" she muttered, her head lolling as she drifted into sleep.

"Come on, elf, get her to bed before she embarrasses herself further," Varric said, waving him over.

"…What?" he asked carefully.

"She needs sleep. Maker, elf, I suppose you really are a stupid drunk," he muttered. "You just hide it better."

"Says the dwarf," he countered, hoisting the unconscious women up. He wasn't used to holding people or carrying them around. "Could you… grab her feet?"

"What do I look like to you? Someone who's tall?" Varric asked, spreading his arms out. "Might as well drag her across the floor."

He didn't answer. Defeated, he bent down and scooped her up. Her legs draped over his arm with ease and, when he stood to full height, she felt lighter than his sword. It wasn't so bad, really, but he wanted to put her down quickly nonetheless.

He set her on the dwarven bed, and she nestled into the pillow, her head turning to the side, lips parted. He brushed back the strands of golden hair that had fallen in her face, curious to see what she looked like close up. Her skin shimmered slightly in the torchlight, and was tinted a healthy rose. He swallowed and stepped back. "She appears… normal," he said. "For the first time tonight," he added under his breath.

The dwarf was watching him carefully with a raised brow. "You know, you get along pretty well with Hawke, considering," he said.

"Considering what?" he asked, letting himself fall to the nearest chair. Exhaustion washed over him. The wine ran thick through his blood and his limbs ached.

"Hm. Nothing. I just thought you hated every mage, is all."

"I…" he trailed off. He had, for the night, completely forgotten what she was. He frowned. Had she been deceiving him somehow?

Varric seemed to sense his unease. "You can't sum up a woman like Hawke with titles like mage or templar. She has her flaws, yes, but those mostly involve a low alcohol tolerance and the irrational need to keep her brother on a tight leash."

"You… bring up a fair point, dwarf. It's impossible to think of her as anything other than Hawke," he admitted, his arms falling to his sides. "Albeit, I've yet to discern what that means."

"Hm." He looked him over, noticing how he drifted off. "I suppose it's too much to hope you can make it home?"

He merely laughed at the idea before he shut his heavy eyes.

"Fine," sighed the dwarf, "I'll take the floor again."


	7. Act I, Scene V

Act I, Scene V

"Peace and Perspective"

* * *

><p>Hawke awoke in an unknown place in a bed far more comfortable than her own. She slid her arms back and pushed herself up, propping herself on her elbows. A pain throbbed in her head and she winced, gingerly touching her brow. A wave of nausea swept through her gut. Groaning, she slid to her feet, stumbling slightly and bumping into an armchair. She looked down to see a white haired elf dozing peacefully in it.<p>

As she was pondering over what the hell happened, she couldn't help but notice that he looked so calm and gentle without the usual furrowed brows and dagger filled glares. Her hand acted on its own and hovered above him, reaching to brush the feathery bangs from his face. The tips of her fingers swept over his soft hair.

Olive eyes snapped open and he grabbed her wrist, wrenching her forward. He snarled like an animal, the rage dissipating any peace that rested on his face. When he saw her shocked expression, he calmed down and released her. She pulled away in fright, holding her stinging, reddened hand to her chest. He pushed himself from the chair, and brusquely walked past her. She couldn't help but feel a little hurt, watching his back vanish into the hall, the door slamming behind him. She jumped as the harsh sound resonated through the room and further irritated her hangover.

"Well good morning to you too," she huffed, smoothing out the tangles of her dirty blonde hair.

She joined her companions on the main floor. They were the only ones there save for an unconscious patron and a bored bartender loitering behind the counter. She bid them all a grumbling, "good morning," to which they replied with equal zeal.

"Morning, Hawke!" Varric greeted cheerfully, bouncing a bulging sack of coins in his hand. The others glared at him, resentful of his victory. Fenris sat alone in the corner, his feet propped up atop the table. His aloof demeanor made it clear he wanted to believe nothing had happened.

"You only won because I bailed," Isabella challenged, sipping from a glass of water.

"That's partially my fault, I wager," Carver said, his grin dripping with swagger.

"Wipe that stupid smirk off your face," Hawke growled. "Don't think I'm letting you off the hook."

"Hoo boy…" Varric said, pocketing his gold.

"Letting me off the hook? Do you hear yourself? Who do you think you are?" he demanded, standing up from his seat.

"Your family, you numbskull! I'm trying to look out for you!"

"I can make my own decisions! Can't I, Isabella?" he said, lowering his voice suggestively.

She held up her hands. "I'm not getting involved in this," she said, hopping up to sit on the counter. "Family affairs are far too messy for me. Fun to watch, though. Carry on."

"I want you to stay away from all this… brothel nonsense!" Hawke said, waving her hand in the air. "You're going to get gangrene! I can't allow it!"

"You treat me like a kid, but you're the one who's acting up! You overact to every decision I make!"

"That's because they aren't proper decisions!"

"That's not for you to decide!"

"Yes it is!"

"Mother may have put you in charge," he snarled, "but you're the one who's always been the childish brat. Don't speak to me about my decisions when you have no experience with them!"

"Carver, don't-"

"All you do is sit back and make snide little remarks! It's not like you've ever been with anyone!" he snapped.

She recoiled as if slapped in the face. Everything went silent. The bartender let out a low whistle from his post.

He seemed momentarily guilty at the stunned look on her face, but shook himself free of the feeling. "I make my own choices, not you. I'm done following your shadow around." He stormed out, slamming the tavern door behind him.

She winced, and glowered after him. "I would love it if people could go one morning without slamming a door in my face," she muttered venomously.

"Well," Varric said, rising to his feet. "Now that we know Junior won't be joining us, we should rethink our plan. Blondie should be here any minute."

"Wonderful," Fenris growled. The dwarf joined him at the table to discuss tactics.

Isabella approached her, slinking as if a sudden movement would invoke her wrath. "Listen, Hawke… I'm sorry, I had no idea it would get _this _messy," she said carefully.

Despite her part in it, Hawke didn't feel enough anger towards the pirate to start a fight. "I don't blame you, Isabella."

"Err… you don't?"

"Carver's right- he made the choice to go to the brothel and… you know. I can't blame you for being you," she said helplessly.

"Right... Well, I am sorry. I can take his place if you want, since you just made me feel guiltier than before," she shook her head. "You're too sweet… it's going to get me killed, I know it."

"I appreciate the offer, but I need a living shield like Carver to keep me out of trouble… Maybe another time. Anyway, let's get Varric back on track, sounds like he's ranting about dragons again."

She felt awkward asking Fenris to take Carver's place, considering what happened with his rude awakening, but once she worked up the courage, he agreed to assist without question. They set out for the slave camp the moment Anders arrived.

* * *

><p>The walk along the Wounded Coast wasn't as horridly awkward as Hawke feared, thanks to the presence of Anders. He had no idea what had transpired that morning, and stayed at her side, chatting about Ser Pounce-a-lot and magic techniques. It was nice to have a friendly mage to talk to, for once.<p>

"You have a lot of potential," he told her. "But it seems you haven't learned some of the more extensive abilities."

"Ooh I do like extensive things," she said. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I could teach you how to heal," he offered.

"That's nice, I suppose. But can you teach me how to turn people into ice sculptures? I rather like that little trick."

He laughed. "Sure, all you need is a lot of ice, a pick and hammer and a certain willingness to turn a man into priceless art."

"If you mages keep plotting ways to exploit your powers, I'm going to intervene," Fenris warned. It was the first thing he said all afternoon.

"Maybe you just need a higher appreciation for art. Or some sort of hobby at least. And no, brooding doesn't count," Anders said, glaring right back at the elf.

"Maybe you should mind your tongue, mage."

"Err… well, this is awkward," Hawke said nervously. "If it makes you feel better, I'll only be turning slavers and the occasional puppy kicker into toads."

His eyes drifted to her, and narrowed. "No. It doesn't."

"Play nice, children," Varric chimed.

"Now here's a worldy dwarf who appreciates art! What do you think of ice sculptures, Varric?" Anders asked merrily.

"It depends. Can they be sold?"

"Hmm maybe," he mused. "I haven't tried yet. You may have just solved our money troubles, you clever dwarf, you."

"Do you talk to everyone like they're kittens, or am I just special?"

"Well you certainly have a special place in my heart. And you're warm and fuzzy, which helps reinforce the thought."

"This is it," Fenris interrupted, sounding relieved they had arrived. "This cave belongs to slavers, no doubt."

"Good work," Hawke said, pulling out her blade. "Let's pay them a little house call, shall we?"

"I have to admit, I'm curious to see a battlemage in action," Anders said, eyeing her sword. "I've always desired to stay as far away from the enemy as possible. Aren't you vulnerable out there?"

"Oh, what's wrong with a little risk?" she said. "Besides, I bring good backup." She jerked her head to the glowering elf.

"_Him_? He's your backup? Forgive me if I fear for you life."

"Let's put you out in the field instead, mage," Fenris said. "We'll see what monstrosities you'll turn to in the heat of battle."

"Do you truly think I'd turn to blood magic? Are you really so closed minded?"

"Here's an idea. How about we spend our energy on the slavers rather than each other?" Hawke suggested crossly.

With that note, they assaulted the cave. In the chaos of combat, Hawke didn't have to worry about her morning embarrassment. She fought alongside the elf, running slavers through when they ventured too close. Anders and Varric picked off the archers and anyone attempting to flank them.

She was used to fighting from behind her brother, as if casting spells over a heavy wall. With Fenris, it was more like they were side by side, synchronizing their attacks. He watched her back, but made no extra effort to keep the enemy from her. It was also a much bloodier experience. Her brother preferred to run a man through, while Fenris... liked to get messy. He swung his sword, cleaving an enemy in half. Intestines poured to the dirt and a stream of red painted the tufts of weeds poking from the ground. He locked blades with a commander, and Hawke blasted the offender with a force spell, slamming him into the wall, his head cracking against rock. She turned to the elf, grinning triumphantly.

"Not bad," he admitted, wiping a smear of blood from his face.

"You're right. It wasn't."

Olive eyes flickered past her and he rushed forward, thrusting his hand out. She winced, ducking her head and pulling her hands to her chest. She heard the squelching of pierced flesh and the anguished gasp of a man. The scent of copper blood, soap and leather enraptured her senses. She looked up at the elf leaning over her, brushing against the inside of his arm. The lyrium tattoos webbing his skin emitted a vibrant blue. She hadn't seen them so close before... they were dazzling, like crystal reflections in an underground pool. He twisted his gauntlet with a low grunt, and roughly pulled back. Warm blood sprayed her back. She stiffened, illogically fearing it was hers until it cooled and a body dropped at her heels. She looked up at his terrible, angry face. When she caught his attention, however, his brows relaxed and his eyes softened. He stepped back, tossing aside the heart held in his hand.

"We should move on," he said, turning his back.

She merely nodded, lowering her hands from her thundering heart. She stared at the dead man by her feet, unable to tear her eyes away from the empty, dark red hole in his chest.

_That could easily be me._

"Are you alright?" Anders called out when he had caught up to them. "I didn't see what was happening until it already…" he trailed off. "But I saw enough." He stared at the body, the torn heart and then at the bloodied elf. "You hypocrite! You're a mage yourself, aren't you!"

"I am not," Fenris snarled, his face contorting in rage as if his mother had been called a whore.

"But you're just as dangerous!"

"I don't have demons hounding my every step."

Anders shook his head. "We all have demons, elf. You just like to pretend you're above them."

"I am not controlled by them, abomination."

"That's what you'd like us to think isn't it?"

"Stop," Hawke ordered, her command light from battle shock. She cleared her throat and raised her voice. "From now on, we shouldn't create such a distance between each other in case someone is endangered. Let's keep moving, we must be nearing the end." She stood by the entryway, watching as they walked through one by one.

"Fenris," she said when he passed. He paused, looking her over. Her blue eyes slid away before she mustered the courage to return his gaze. "Thank you."

He gave her a crooked smile and continued on through the cave.

They dispatched the rest of the slavers and brought Feynriel to safety. He was in awe of Hawke, comparing her to great heroes from stories of old. He gazed at her with starry eyes as he babbled.

She swelled under the pride, much to the annoyance of her companions. "Just doing my duty, good citizen!" she said.

"That's our captain," Varric said, "always with her head in the clouds."

The apostate and the elf cast him a look that clearly said, _you're one to talk. _They soon noticed each other and exchanged glares.

"Did mother send you?" Feynriel asked, once he had finished boosting her ego.

"Yes, she asked us to look for you after you ran off."

He scowled. "She tells me she loves me and that she'll protect me, but throws me to the templars at the first sign of a bad dream."

"Well, dreaming of demons isn't exactly in the norm," she pointed out. "Your mother's right to seek help."

"I know that! That's why I was searching for the Dalish when I was captured!"

Hawke put her foot down. "This matter cannot be taken lightly."

Her companions stared at her in shock. "Really?" Varric asked. "Not even by you?"

"Of course not," she insisted. "A mage who is both susceptible to demons and has no control is only a danger. Feynriel. You should go to the circle."

Anders whirled on her. "I can't believe what I'm hearing!" he exclaimed. "Why would you throw him to the templars? I thought you understood!"

"I do," she insisted. "My father taught me how to resist temptation. If I didn't have him, and hadn't gone to the circle, I'd probably be running through the woods right now without any pants, partaking in rabbit murdering blood rituals."

"Sounds like your typical Friday night." Varric chuckled.

"I… fine," Anders said, shaking his head. "I don't like this, but you have a point."

"If you think it's a good idea, then I'll go," Feynriel promised.

They escorted him out of the cave. The sun was setting on the horizon of the Wounded Coast, casing an amber sheen over the glistening waters. Hawke soaked in the view and the cool breeze and set off for Kirkwall, her spirits high.

Fenris stopped her along the way. "May I have a moment?" he asked.

She looked to him curiously, her heart rate quickening as she wondered what he wanted to talk about. Hopefully it wouldn't be another mage bashing session.

"Alright. You two go on ahead," she said.

"Sure thing, Hawke. Stop by the Hanging Man soon. You liven up the place," Varric said, walking off.

She turned to the elf. "What's on your mind?" she asked. She couldn't help but notice how his hair glowed bronze under the receding sun.

"I don't understand you," he admitted bluntly. "I did not expect you to make a wise decision."

"And why not?" she asked defensively.

"It has nothing to do with you being a mage. Although I never imagined one would send him to the Circle."

"Look, I understand why you hate magic. And while I think it's a bit extreme, there's a smidgen of reason to it. Mages are dangerous without control."

"That is why you surprise me. You possess an unexpected ability to see things in a practical matter, despite what you are."

"OK, was that a backhanded compliment just now?" she asked suspiciously.

"Perhaps." He smiled. "One moment you're acting like a child, and the next you're making important decisions."

"Hey! I make important decisions all the time! Like… what I should put on my toast in the morning. Which is wiser than it sounds, since most everything in Gamlen's stores is unidentifiable. It's disgusting."

He ignored her rant. "Behind your foolishness last night, I can see you take family matters seriously." He hesitated, his eyes searching. "Perhaps the fault lies with me for not understanding how relationships work."

She averted her gaze and shuffled her feet. "It's not like I'm a master at them, either. You were there, you heard Carver. Everything he said was true. I know I didn't handle it right."

"Still, every irrational thing you said was for his benefit. Although good intentions do not make you correct." His olive eyes softened, and glanced across the surface of the darkening water. "You care for your family. I'm not blind; I know you would never place yourself ahead of them for power."

She peered at him and how the dusky light graced his features, almost bringing out the calmness she saw while he slept. "Why are you so curious about me?" she asked, her voice soft.

Olive eyes flashed to her and he smirked. "You're a beautiful woman, Hawke."

She blushed. "I'm a… a what?"

"I'm sure I don't need to repeat the obvious. But I've said my piece, and it's getting late. We should return before night falls," he said, walking past her.

They walked along the coast in a silence that was, for the first time between them, teetering along the lines of comfort and accordance.


	8. Act I, Scene VI

Act I, Scene VI

"The Nobleman's Specter"

* * *

><p>Hawke sat cross legged on the dirt of Darktown. Her eyelids twitched as she struggled to clear her thoughts.<p>

"Think only into the deep reserves of your mind, trail it to the source of your energy," Anders said from behind her. "Picture the body's anatomy at your fingertips. Imagine the split skin of a gaping wound. Run your hand along it; mend the muscle, sew the skin over the blood."

The imagery disturbed her and she flickered out of the meditation. She scowled back at the mage. "This is impossible!" she complained.

"Only because you're so restless," he chided. "Here, give me your knife."

"My knife? Why?"

He waggled a finger at her. "Na-ah-ah, who's the teacher here?"

"Ugh, you are…" She rolled her eyes and pulled a dagger from her belt. She handed it to him, and he sliced it across his hand. "What're you doing?" she gasped, leaping up. "Are you mad?"

"Ooh that smarts," he said through gritted teeth. He held out his palm to her, his hand slightly shaking as blood trickled between his fingers and dripped to the floor. It splattered on the dirt and pooled through the rough cracks in the ground. She stared at it apprehensively. "It's not blood magic," he assured gently. "It's practice. Go on- heal it."

She uncertainly summoned magic to her fingertips. They glowed a vibrant green. She gingerly placed them over the thin cut. He winced at the stinging. Her brows furrowed in concentration. The aura sharpened, then cut out. She pulled back and shook her hand. "I can't!" she said hopelessly.

"You can," he urged. "Try again. Preferably before my poor hand falls off."

She conjured another doubtful healing spell.

"Concentrate," he told her. "A mage can do anything with willpower and control."

_Focus, my little Eileen, and it will come to you._

Her brows furrowed. She set her hand against his, and a bright light flowed into the cut. The pain appeared to recede from his face, and he pulled his hand back, admiring it.

"Hm. Nothing but a little scar," he said, tossing her a grin. "Well, I expected it to take longer for you to learn, honestly. Your magic reserves don't run as deep as most."

"My mother didn't want my powers to stand out, so I was mostly taught restraint," she said with a shrug. "I practiced swordplay to compensate."

"Oh? You overcompensate for a lot of things?" he teased.

"I bet you know all about that, with that big staff you carry around," she shot back, folding her arms across her chest.

"Ouch. Touched a nerve?"

She shook her head and picked up her sword, fastening it to her belt. He returned her knife with a cheeky grin. "You know, you remind me a lot of my father," she said distantly, smiling fondly at him.

The amusement on his face vanished, replaced by guilt and fear. "No. I can't," he said frantically. "You mustn't get too close to me."

She paused, narrowing her eyes and staring at him carefully. "I wasn't aware I was getting grabby?"

"It's just that… with Justice… I'm not safe." He jabbed a finger towards the clinic exit. "You can't get involved with someone like me. You should leave."

His behavior was disconcerting and the urgency of his tone warned her not to hesitate. She hurried out of the clinic, left to wonder what she had said to set him off. She had a bad feeling it wouldn't be the last of his peculiar behavior.

_Are there no sane mages?_

* * *

><p>Carver still wasn't willing to run errands with her and Aveline was busy with her own work, so she had to rely on Fenris as her main source of backup. While she was grateful for his help, she missed her brother. Thankfully he had opted to travel with her to Sundermount since he also felt tied to the Witch's promise. They delivered the amulet together, brought Merrill to the Alienage, and fell into an uncomfortable distance once more. She knew what he wanted, but couldn't find it in herself to give him the reigns. If anything happened to him, it would destroy Leandra.<p>

So, when it came time for her to answer a bounty for a missing wife, she had no choice but to bring the elf along with her. She didn't mind, he had been pleasant since their talk on the Wounded Coast, but she always felt that he judged her for what she was. Whenever they ran into a mage who had lusted after forbidden powers, he always threw her a cold, accusing glare.

She begged Aveline to come with her more often, but the red haired woman scolded her from being selfish and told her that her insecurities were not reason enough to shirk her duty.

They met with Ghyslain, a chestnut haired man with a long beard. He ordered them to find Ninette, his wife, for fear her family would suspect foul play.

"I think even _I _suspect foul play," Hawke said irritably.

"It does not matter what they think. I did nothing to my wife. And that is something, since Ninette has been seeing other men- most half her age! Jethan even sent her a bouquet of white lilies! Her favorite! This is unacceptable! She is bound to me by the law. Drag her back if you must," he said firmly.

"I can't imagine why she ran off," Fenris criticized.

"You know nothing, elf! You are as apathetic as the guards!"

"Alright, alright! Just shut up already… We'll find your wife," she promised.

They walked off, eager to leave the brutish man. The loitered in Hightown Market, discussing their next course of action.

"He really bothered you, didn't he?" she asked the elf curiously.

"The privilege of family should not be taken lightly," he said matter-of-factly.

She agreed, of course, but didn't know how to respond. The tone of his voice had seemed almost resentful- she couldn't begin to imagine how it felt to not even know your relatives. Even poor relations were better than none at all.

"We shouldn't all go to the brothel," she told her companions. "It would draw far too much attention."

"I fit in just fine," Isabella announced.

No one argued.

With that, the pirate took her to the Blooming Rose, warning her not to stand too close to the patrons. "You never know what they might have," she said.

"Should I keep my distance from you, then?"

She winked. "You can try."

Red curtains and banners hung from the windows and ceilings. Elves and humans strutted around in their smalls and corsets.

"Oh dear," Hawke breathed, her eyes wide.

"Don't fret, sweet pea. Just follow my lead," Isabella said, linking arms with the traumatized mage and pulling her along.

"Isabella- we should split up. You go question Jethan and I'll talk to their… err… leader."

"This isn't a cult, Hawke. But I suppose it's a good idea. Unless you're just trying to get rid of me so you can hog all the fun," she pouted.

They parted ways. Hawke approached the receptionist.

"Greetings, serah. My name is Vivika." The dressed up girl looked her over, taking note of how nervous she was. A knowing smile spread up her face. "If this is your first time, dear, I can help you pick someone out."

She opened her mouth to argue, but quickly changed her mind. "Yes, yes, I, uhm, was recommended by a friend. She told me that if I wanted to have a-" she gulped, "a good time, I should see one of her... you know."

"Well, our clients have excellent taste. Who'd she see?"

"That's the problem. I can't seem to remember."

"Oh. Then there's not much we can do for you," she said, her brow creasing.

"Do have a ledger? Some sort of record of what company she kept?" she inquired carefully, twisting her hands together.

Vivika peered at her warily. "Yes… we do, but I'm not really supposed to show it to anyone."

"She's my friend!" she said sharply. "She won't mind. Otherwise, I'd have to go… take my coin elsewhere. And I _really _want to have a good time," she said with a horrified expression.

The girl sighed. "Very well. What's your friend's name?"

"Ninette," she said in relief.

"Oh. Yes, she sees Jethan regularly. Is that who she meant?"

"Uhm. She mentioned him, but she also talked of… some others."

"Alright, let me find her…" She walked behind the counter and sifted through a huge ledger. Hawke wondered just how many of Kirkwall's citizens indulged themselves here. "Hm. Well, it's mostly Jethan, but it looks like she tried something new her last visit."

"I'm sure that's what she was talking about! Who'd she see?"

"The Exotic Wonder of the East," the girl said with a bored voice. "She's quite popular. It'll cost two sovereigns to see her."

Her heart fell. She was willing to put herself through a lot to find Ninette, but parting with her coin was crossing a line. She hesitated, battling with herself. Vivika watched her with a raised brow. Well, she had already gotten this far, what was the point in backing out now? She reluctantly handed over the coin.

"Here you go," she said woefully.

"Err… alright. She's upstairs, third door on the left." Vivika inched away, placing the coins in a drawer behind the counter. Hawke miserably eyed her every move before pulling herself away.

* * *

><p>The Exotic Wonder of the East was a mahogany haired girl with thin, almond eyes and a striking jaw line.<p>

"Ooh you'll do just fine," she purred when Hawke walked in and shut the door.

"I have some questions," she said firmly, narrowing her eyes.

The prostitute seemed taken aback. "We all have uncertainties." She laid on her side at the edge of the bed, dipping her side to exemplify the curve of her waist. Her painted eyelashes fluttered and her red lips rose to the side. "Look into my eyes, and I'll allay all your niggling little fears."

She stood firmly and crossed her arms. "This cost me a lot of coin. I suggest you make it worth my while."

A giggle escaped her lips. "Oh, trust me. I will…"

"Where's Ninette? You were one of the last people to see her."

The Wonder blinked up at her. "Ninette? I thought… oh you silly girl!" she laughed. "It's no matter, really, you'll be joining her shortly."

"Joining her as in she's at a party? Or as in she's already sunk to the bottom of the harbor?"

The Wonder stood from the bed and walked over, staring into Hawke's eyes with an alluring gaze. "Take this collar, and tie it around that pretty little neck," she said smoothly, handing her a thin leather strap.

Her eyelids drooped, feeling heavy as if a numbing sleep had washed over her. "Mm… sure," she said with a happy smile, pulling the collar through her hair and tying it at the back.

"Good girl. Now head straight to the foundry, and tell the nice man there that his new package has arrived. Do you understand?"

"Mmhm."

A smirk spread up her face. "Wonderful. Have a safe trip, love."

* * *

><p>Isabella left Jethan's room with information about the templar Emeric. She looked around the brothel, craning her neck for any sign of Hawke. "What trouble has that blonde gotten herself into now? I swear," she muttered. She set her hands against the balcony and leaned over the edge. She spotted the mage stumbling slightly through the crowd, heading for the door. "Hawke!" she called out. She didn't respond.<p>

The pirate hurried down the stairs and rushed out the brothel, catching up with her friend in the street. She grabbed her arm and swung her around, recoiling at the blank expression on her face.

"Hey! What's gotten into you?" she demanded, giving her a shake.

"I… have to get… to the foundry…" When she spoke, her straight lips twisted in a frown and her eyes glinted with desperation. She faltered as if trying to fight off a heavy weight.

"Don't be stupid. We need to round up the others before we do anything. Besides, my information is probably better!"

Hawke pulled her arm back, her palm beginning to glow gold.

"What are you doing?" the pirate asked suspiciously.

She thrust her hand out, knocking her with a force spell. She flew back and struck her head against the wall. A snap of pain shot through her skull and she felt a warm trickle run through her hair. She could only open her eyes long enough to see the fuzzy outline of her friend turn her back and blunder away. Her head fell towards her chest and blackness took her.

* * *

><p>"And now Aveline won't let me join the bloody guard!" Carver exclaimed, slamming his tankard onto the worn table.<p>

"Easy, Junior, it's barely two o'clockand you're already drinking," Varric said, shuffling his cards. "Hey, elf! What's keeping you with those drinks?"

"A little busy," Fenris complained, walking over with bottles in hands and two tucked under each arm.

"Would you like some cheese with that whine?" Varric asked amusedly.

He scowled, and set the drinks down. The green glass clinked and sparkled in the bright afternoon light seeping through the broken walls. "What's it to you, dwarf? These are all mine."

He opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Carver's continual moping. "I'd make a better guard than that hammer jawed yokel!" he shouted.

"Why do I keep such depressing company?" Varric sighed. "I hate to say it, but I'm almost looking forward to Rivaini's return. I'm in the mood for a trouble free conversation."

The door to the Hanged Man flew open. Isabella rushed in, looking wildly around until she spotted the group by the fire.

"Well, speak of the devil. Perfect timing, Rivaini! I've a warm deck of cards, if you're up for it."

"There you are!" she snapped. "What time is it?"

"Not half past two. Why?" He noticed dried blood soaking her blue bandanna and caked to the side of her face. "What finally managed to rough you up?"

"Hawke!" the pirate exclaimed. "She's gone completely mad!"

Everyone seated around the table gawped at her.

"That's not news," Carver said, returning to his drink.

"You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to surprise us, Rivaini."

The pirate slammed her fist on the table. One of Fenris's bottles tipped over the edge and smashed to the floor. He gave her a cold, deathly glare. "She tried to kill me!" she cried.

They looked to her again, this time giving her their rapt attention.

"There. Now you're taking me seriously," she huffed.

"Why would she do that?" Carver demanded. "Was she still angry about the other night?"

"I know she's a firecracker, but she wouldn't just loose control like that," the dwarf argued. "Something must've happened."

"Will you shut up and listen?" They all quieted. "I don't know what happened, exactly." She paced back and forth, wringing her hands. "We split up at the Blooming Rose. When I next saw her, she was ambling off, muttering about the foundry with this crazed look in her eye."

"Let me guess," Carver put in, "it has to do with a small boy and a stolen pouch of coin. She always goes mad when her money's taken, it's perfectly normal."

"This was _not _normal!" Isabella snapped. "When I tried to stop her, she hit me with one of those… spell things. I was out for at least an hour! Who knows what trouble she's gotten into since then?"

"Trouble does tend to dog her. We should head to the foundry," Fenris said, standing to his feet.

"Thank you! Sense has finally entered the equation!" Isabella said exasperatedly, falling back onto a chair and pressing a hand against her wound.

"Sit back down," Carver said irritably. "It's not worth leaving your drink."

"No," said the defiant elf.

Blue eyes flashed up angrily. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing's ever wrong," he said firmly. "She always goes off and does stupid shit like this."

The elf regarded him coldly. "This is your sister. Are you really willing to take that chance?"

"I… Fine. We'll go. But if we find her shaking a kid by the ankles for his pocket change, it'll be your fault we wasted our time."

"It's preferable to the alternative."

"Come on, Junior. The brooding elf's right," Varric said, slinging Bianca over his back. "Will you be alright, Rivaini?"

"It's not me I'm worried about!" She shooed her hand at them. "Stop wasting time and go get her! Men!" she hissed. "So incompetent."

They left for the Foundry, wondering just what kind of scene they'd uncover. Carver's harping that it was nothing soon waned into an unsure declaration. An uneasiness settled over him like a black cloud.

* * *

><p>Hawke felt as if she was trapped in a small box, peering through a tiny slit into the outside world. She could feel her body walk down the streets, but could do little to hinder it. She tried over and over again to regain control of her muscles. She got her limbs to jerk, but that was all.<p>

When she stopped, she had no idea where she was. She heard a voice echo as if sounding from across a great distance.

Her lips moved to form alien words. She fought to clamp them shut.

"Yeah. Check out her neck. She's the next one all right," a man said. She could see shadowy forms of people in leather armor, but no faces or solid objects.

"She's quite a catch, isn't she? You think the boss would notice if we had some fun with her first?"

Panic and anger rose up in her chest.

"Don't be an idiot! If she's not perfectly intact, we won't get paid. Sort your priorities straight, will you?"

Her body was pushed up against a round column. She felt her arms being pulled back, and a rough rope was tied at her wrists. Her legs turned to jelly and she slid to the floor. Her body went limp, hanging forward, held up by her bound hands.

"What a sweet, obedient girl you are," the man cooed, letting out a low laugh in her ear.

She wanted to burn his face off. She felt as though all she could do was beat helplessly against the glass, shouting feebly in the hopes that someone would hear her. No one answered.

_Calm down, Eileen. Carver will come. He'll know something's wrong and he'll find you. Just stay calm. _

But, try as she might, she couldn't. She didn't even have enough control to steady her breath.


	9. Intermission II

Act I, Scene VI ½

"The Fellowship of the Three Towers"

* * *

><p>"Tell me, Fenris," Carver whispered, his back pressed to the walls of the foundry, "what do your elven eyes see?"<p>

The elf peered into the dank dark. "Darkspawn. No less than twenty," he said mystically. He turned to the others fearfully. "They're taking Hawke to Ostagar!"

"We must make haste!" Carver declared. "Come, Varric! We're gaining on them!"

The dwarf tumbled down the stairs and crashed into the wall. Groaning, he pushed himself to his short legs. "We dwarfs are natural sprinters! We're not fit for cross country!"

The three rushed into the foundry, weapons blazing. Carver leaped the balcony, slicing the enemy below with his great sword. Fenris stabbed a hurlock through the throat with an arrow. He notched it to his bow and slid down the stairs atop the enemy's shield, firing into the Darkspawn as he passed.

Varric charged, swinging his battleaxe and cleaving an emissary's head clean off. "That's one for the dwarf!" he boasted.

"I've got four!" Fenris shouted back.

Once the enemies were felled, they rescued Hawke from her prison.

"Oh brother!" she cried, leaping into his arms. "I was ever so scared!"

They left the foundry, set fire to the cursed place and rode off into the sunset.

-Your story needed fine tuning. Thank me later.

Varric

* * *

><p>"When have I ever used a bow and arrow?" Fenris demanded. The two were in a small market outpost, refilling their meager supplies and searching for jobs and coin.<p>

"I thought you'd be resentful of the implication that you actually had friends, not that you didn't swing a big, manly sword around," she pointed out, biting into a crisp apple.

"Take away the big, manly sword and little else remains," he said with a crooked smile.

"Ha! Maybe that's it. Varric is simply jealous, the poor dwarf. His copious amount of chest hair only gets him so far."

"How far?" he growled, his eyes narrowing.

She set a hand against his chest, peering up at him with hooded eyes. "A few longing stares of desire," she breathed.

His lips twisted into a frown.

"Oh, don't judge me," she said with a grin, pulling away and tossing the apple core into the bushes. "I just wanted a pretty wig."

* * *

><p>A.N: I sense a new version of the Isengard song... oh dear.<p>

Thanks for the reviews!

NoMadKa: I always thought Anders was a pretty chill bro until he started dressing in all black and doing creepy, secretive things behind people's backs... kinda like a friend I once had in high school.


	10. Act I, Scene VII

Act I, Scene VII

"Oblivious"

* * *

><p>The human, the dwarf and the elf arrived at the foundry. They snuck inside, Varric leading the way to properly dispose of threatening traps. Voices murmured from the main room, and they sidled along the wall.<p>

"What'd you hear, elf?" Varric whispered.

He tilted his head, listening in on the conversation.

"Ey, why's he taking so long?" a man demanded in frustration.

"What, don't tell me you've got places to be?" another laughed. "The boss is a busy man and this package came unexpectedly."

"Yeah… she's a fine one, she is. How much you think we'll git paid?"

"Nothing if you get us discovered with your yapping. So keep it down, ya hear?"

"Ack. Fine, fine."

Fenris peered around the corner. He saw the two conversing men below the balcony, sitting on crates near a column. The light was dim, but he could make out a woman sitting on the ground, her arms holding her up. Her hands were no doubt tied behind the post. Her head fell toward, her chin and nose jutting past the curtain of her golden hair.

He pulled back. "It's her," he assured. "She appears to be… at a disadvantage."

"How many mercenaries?" Varric asked.

"No more than a dozen, I'd say."

"Not too bad. We can take 'em, if we're careful. Just follow my lead," he advised, drawing Bianca close to his chest. He crept along the wall, the floorboards creaking under his boots. He held his crossbow up to eyelevel, took aim, and pulled the trigger. A gurgling wail responded.

"Holy shit- men! We're under-"

Another bolt fired, burrowing between the second man's eyes.

Varric vanished behind the opposite wall as the mercenaries leapt to attention.

"What in Andraste's name! Go check it out! It had to have come from the balcony!"

"Get ready," the dwarf mouthed from across the entry point.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. Fenris and Carver readied their blades. The mercenaries rushed around the corner and Fenris charged in with a cry, wielding his blade like a scythe as he cut down the first to appear. The next two were taken out by a weighted stab from Carver and a precise bolt from Bianca.

"Like bees to honey!" Varric exclaimed with a grin.

They whittled the ambushed mercenaries down until only one remained. He dropped his mace. It hit the wood with a heavy thunk. He backed up into the railing as Fenris approached, sinking to the floor and begging for his life. The elf grabbed him around the throat. He gasped and clawed at the metal gauntlet as he was dragged kicking and yelping down the stairs.

Carver and Varric exchanged a nervous glance, and followed at a distance.

Fenris slammed the sobbing mercenary into the wall and squeezed his hand.

"S-stop! Hrrk!" The man gasped for breath.

He loosened his hold. "Who hired you?" he snarled. "Tell me everything!"

"Fathius!" he gasped. "It was Lars Fathius! He didn't give us the details, only to capture anyone who came to us wearing collars. We keep them here until an elf comes to pick them up. That's all I know- I swear!"

"Fathius..." Fenris hissed.

"Will you- will you let me go?"

He dropped the mercenary, who fell to his knees, coughing and clutching at his throat. The elf turned back, gave his wary companions a cold look, and swung around, bringing his blade across the man's back. Blood splattered around him like the fruit of a crushed melon.

"Why'd you do that?" Carver demanded. "He was defenseless!"

"He would've given away our identities in a heartbeat," the elf said dismissively. He rifled through the mercenary equipment lain out on a table. "Let's get out of here before more arrive." He jerked his head to the pillar.

Carver looked to where he indicated, and his blue eyes widened. "Sister!" he exclaimed, rushing over to her. He tilted her head up, freezing at the blank expression he saw. She seemed unconscious, but her eyes were partially open. "W-what's wrong?"

"Easy, Junior. Don't get your smalls in a twist. She'll be fine," Varric assured.

"How do you know?" he whirled on the dwarf.

"Let's just free her and argue the details later."

Fenris tossed the dwarf a bag. "Look inside," he said. He walked around the back of the column, drawing a knife from his belt.

Varric poured the contents of the pouch onto the dirt. White sticks clattered down like a deathly waterfall. "Bones?" he questioned. A ring clinked atop the pile, and he stopped to pick it up, examining it between his gloved fingers.

Fenris took the knife and slid it between her hands, noticing how her wrists burned red from the strain of the rope. It was a familiar sight. He cut the binds, and she fell forward into her brother's grasp.

She groaned and mumbled, her eyes flickering as she readjusted them. They flashed up to her brother, and she smiled weakly. "Carver! I knew you'd come for me, you big idiot..." she drifted off.

"I- yes, of course," Carver said, his voice cracking. He helped her to her feet and she slumped against him, her knees wobbly.

"Mm... How much did I drink this time?"

"I have no idea, sister. But we need to get you home, OK?"

"Mother'll be angry... this is just like that time in Ferelden."

He picked her up, and carried her towards the stairs. Her head lolled back and she didn't respond to further questioning.

"Take her to Blondie," the dwarf advised. "Once he patches her up, we'll get to the bottom of this." He held up the little silver ring, turning it so that the inside shone in the dim light. He squinted, making out a thinly written engraving. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he said to the elf.

"What does it say?" he asked.

"See for yourself." He tossed him the ring. The elf caught it with his gauntlet, and held it out in his palm. He could see the cursive letters spelling, _My Beloved, Ninette._ "I... interesting," he sighed with a shrug, handing it back. Varric threw him a puzzled look before pocketing the ring and tromping up the stairs. Fenris followed at a distance, feeling completely useless. He glowered to himself, filled with loathing. He bore no decent memories of that feeling.

* * *

><p>Hawke awoke sometime later on a flat table in Darktown. When she opened her eyes, she saw an elf and a human staring down at her. She blinked, and the vision cleared. She pushed herself up.<p>

"Easy," Anders said, setting a hand on her shoulder.

"You should be fine now," Merrill assured. "We dispelled the blood magic that controlled you."

"Blood magic?" she exclaimed, wincing at the pain. "Ugh... my head... what happened?"

"Your brother brought you in, along with Varric and Fenris," Merrill explained. "When Anders saw something was strange, he sent for me. Your mind had been touched by a blood mage. Dispelling it wasn't difficult, but we decided it best to let you sleep for a bit."

"What happened, Hawke? The others were anxious to know."

"I was... with Isabella at the Blooming Rose. The last thing I can clearly remember is talking to someone Ninette had seen; a harlot called The Exotic Wonder of the East." She looked up at the two, and slid to her feet. The room spun, and she gripped Merril's shoulder for support until it steadied. The chain mail was smooth and cold against her skin. When she recovered, she untied the leather collar from her neck, and showed it to them. "She... made me put this on and told me to go to the foundry. I had no control over myself; it must've been the blood magic."

"I think we should pay this talented prostitute a visit," Anders suggested.

"I don't understand, why would you want to do that?" Merrill asked, giving him a suspicious look.

He sighed exasperatedly. "To kill her, Merrill."

"Oh. Well alright then." She turned to Hawke. "We'll need to work on you. So you can resist future compulsions."

"We will later, I don't want her escaping. You think you two can handle her?"

They exchanged a knowing look and smiled at her.

* * *

><p>The Blooming Rose had reached the apex of activity this time at night, so getting to the Wonder's room was no small feet. Hawke kicked in the door, bearing her blade. But the room was empty. Confused, she asked Vivika, who explained that family matters had called the girl from Kirkwall. Hawke didn't buy it for a second, but there was nothing she could do. They left, intending to go the Hanging Man before being interrupted by an armored guard.<p>

"Greetings, serah Hawke," he said, bowing his head. "My master has use for your capable skills, should you desire coin."

She looked him over. "How much coin?" she inquired curiously.

"Enough to travel Thedas twice over, serah."

Her eyes sparkled at the thought, and a dreamy smile spread up her face.

"Uh-oh," Merrill whispered, "bad things happen when she gets that look."

* * *

><p>The others stayed at the Hanging Man till nightfall and explained the situation to Isabella. She feigned disinterest, but her brown eyes wandered to the door whenever a new patron came in. Carver was sitting by the fire, drinking his weight in ale. The elf and the dwarf were upstairs playing cards.<p>

When Hawke finally arrived, both Anders and Merrill were at her side, locked in a fervent discussion about magic. She had a laugh on her face and a bright interesting sparkled in her eyes. Isabella eyed her and, seeing that she was fine, instantly relaxed and reverted to her easy going demeanor. "Hawke!" she greeted. "You little bitch! You had us worried sick!"

"Isabella! From what I hear, I nailed you pretty good."

She gingerly tapped the side of her head. "That's an understatement. Next time you want to nail me, buy me flowers first, alright?"

"I'm very sorry... it won't happen again?" she said, shrugging helplessly.

"Hmm... Let's say this makes us even for me sleeping with your brother. Sound good?"

She shot her a glare at the mention of the lingering wound, but accepted the offer.

She joined a bothered Carver at the table. "I heard you're the one who got me to Ander's clinic. Thanks, brother," she said, giving him a careful smile. "I don't remember much, but I do remember thinking you'd show up and get your big sister out of her silly mess."

He set the tankard of ale down and averted his eyes to the side. He couldn't lock gazes with her, she looked far too grateful for him to bear. "Of course, sister. I knew right away that something was wrong, and convinced the others to go after you. They didn't think it was anything, but I knew better." He slid his eyes towards Isabella, who was gawping at him in disbelief. He firmly set his resolve, and looked up at his sister challangingly. "It seems I'm more responsible than you give me credit for."

"It would seem so," she agreed with a thin smile. Disappointment crossed her face at mention of the others not taking her plight seriously. "I'm... sorry, Carver. For ever doubting you."

"Maker... I can't bear this- I'm going upstairs!" Isabella announced, waving her hand out and stomping off to join the card game.

"Oh! Wait for me!" Merrill said, prancing after her. "You were going to teach me what body shots were!"

"Not now, kitten! Isabella's angry!"

"Why so gloomy, sister?" Carver asked, taking a swig from his ale.

"I dunno. I guess... I just expected more from those two. What if you hadn't been there, Carver? They might never have come."

"Oh... yeah, maybe," he said uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. Guilt stung at his gut, keeping him from shutting his mouth. He had to say something to make her feel better. "Varric would've, he was quick to his feet."

"Ah." That told her what she needed to know. The cold, accusing glares, the hatred of mages... of course, it made sense when she thought about it. Why would he care if she was in trouble? It shouldn't have bothered her, but she couldn't shake the troubled feeling.

"You shouldn't be so surprised," Anders told her, noticing the look on her face. "That elf hates mages- we're just another problem to him. You should've seen the look on his face when they brought you in- no doubt scared off any prospective cats lurking nearby."

"Can we talk about something else now?" Hawke said, forcing a light laugh. She turned to her brother, her eyes alight with hope. "I managed to find us another job! That's why I took so long getting here," she admitted.

"Really? Who for?"

"A nobleman named Marcus Norridge. His son was kidnapped by a rival family," she said excitedly. "Do you realize what this means?"

"More family drama?" he suggested.

"A rich father will pay half his purse for the return of his beloved son! Surely enough to get us aboard Bartrand's expedition!"

* * *

><p>"I can't believe what's going on down there!" Isabella ranted, pacing Varric's room.<p>

"Hmm... I can't figure out your tell, elf, I'll give you that," Varric said, peering over the edge of his cards.

"Tevinter slaves are not allowed to wear their emotions on their sleeves," he explained, organizing his hand.

"No, it's just that your reaction to everything is to brood. I can't tell the difference between bad hand broody and good hand broody."

"Are you listening?" she growled. "Carver's down there with Hawke, taking all the credit for her rescue! Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not in the slightest, Ravaini. Hawke knows we weren't after personal glory," Varric said. He looked up at the pirate. "Let Junior be. He's just trying to get points for his sister's approval."

She folded her arms across her chest. "At the cost of your own?"

He sighed and set his cards face down. "Who do you take Hawke for, exactly?"

"He's bad mouthing you to make himself look better!"

"Like you haven't ever done the same?" Fenris sneered.

"He and Anders were having a nice chat about you," she countered sharply. He responded with a heavy glare. He shook his head and motioned for Varric to continue their game. She tried a different tactic, leaning to the elf's ear. "You know... she seemed rather sad, actually." He frowned, and chose to ignore her. "Seems she doesn't like the idea of you hating her... I wonder why that is?"

"Hawke's relationship with her brother is her own buisiness. I'm not going to get in the way, and I advise you to do the same," he said firmly.

She huffed, and twirled around on the heel of her boot. "Fine. Have it your way, then." She glanced back over her shoulder, the curls of her dark hair framing a determined expression. Skeptical brown eyes caught how the elf's lips tipped lower than normal, and how there was a new crease in his brow. A smile spread up her face. "But I know better."

* * *

><p>Hawke offered the wedding ring to Ghyslain. He didn't seem particularly heartbroken over Ninette's death, and returned it out of paranoia. She pocketed it away, emitting her frustrations that she had reached a dead end.<p>

"I feel _so _rejected," she complained.

Fenris chose not to tell her about Lars's involvement. He deemed it unwise for her to go running off for revenge when she had barely managed to keep her identity a secret from him. It was best that his eye was targeted elsewhere. Carver asked to investigate on his own. In light of recent events, she allowed him, albeit reluctantly. He took both Varric and the ring, and followed Isabella's trail to Darktown. The elf didn't like that idea very much. He wanted the matter to be dropped rather than pursued.

She took him, Isabella and Aveline to search the Wounded Coast for the noble's missing son. The guardsman had finally been granted enough time to assist her. Anders was swamped at the clinic from a flu outbreak in Darktown and Merrill insisted that she had an important chore to handle. It probably involved flower picking from the nobles' gardens, again.

It was a hot, muggy day. Hawke fanned herself, pulling at her blue tunic and leather pants. "Why did I wear black?" she groaned.

"Do what I do; don't bring pants," Isabella suggested.

"Oh what an excellent solution! Let's all just remove our clothing!"

"Hey, you said it, not me," the pirate grinned, her hand reaching to the back of her tunic. Fenris cleared his throat and turned away.

"Can't you control yourself for ten straight minutes?" Aveline demanded roughly.

"Depends. Can you be fun for five?"

Hawke raised a hand to silence them. "Hush, this is the cave Marcus Norridge told me about." They ducked behind the rocks towering at the brink of the pathway. A slight incline led up to the dark entrance embedded in the rock formation. "He told me the rivaling family takes care of their... dirty dealings here."

"What's the story, Hawke?" Aveline asked, readying her blade. "Why did they take Norridge's son?"

"Apparently the head of the Salvani family threatened him if he didn't close up shop; they're competing merchants, you see. Heads of different businesses that deal in the same product. First Marcus's servants found traces of poison in his wine, and now his boy's missing."

"I don't know... it doesn't seem concrete enough. Have they made any further demands?"

"Not that I know of. Come on, we should at least check it out. The pay's too good to pass up. And, uh, a kid's life is in danger and stuff."

"Your concern is awe inspiring," Fenris drawled.

They snuck up to the eerily quiet cave. Mist pooled out from its mouth, rolling over the hill and around their ankles. Hawke figured it was deeper than she first imagined. She told her companions to keep their guard up, and set foot inside the inky blackness. The air inside had a raw, metallic taste to it. She sniffed, the scent of copper high in the draft. A chill swept through her, a stark contrast to the temperature outside.

"Brr!" Isabella shivered. "Maybe this is the Maker's way of telling me I should wear pants after all?"

She scolded her for speaking loudly, but no one seemed to respond. In fact, as far as she knew, the cave was completely empty. The element of surprise didn't matter if she didn't know who she was surprising. She conjured a light in the palm of her hand and illuminated the cave floors. Beneath a coat of mist, they were stained with blood. She lifted her foot, inspecting her red stained boots in shock. The other glanced around, raising their weapons.

"It's still wet," Fenris said, rubbing the bottom of his bare foot against his pant leg.

Buzzing filled her ears. She walked forward, raising the light. A great cloud of flies swarmed a pile of disfigured and mutilated corpses, their armor bearing the mark of the Silvani company. She nudged at a severed arm with her toe. It flopped over like a dead fish. She crinkled her nose in disgust.

"Maker..." Aveline breathed. "Is this a setup? I don't understand."

"We should, you know, leave," Isabella suggested. "No amount of coin is worth this."

Hawke ignored them, instead walking further into the cave. It wasn't about the coin anymore. She had to know what was going on. The black cloud of flies shot at her, flying around her face so that all she saw was a dark tremor. She shrieked, her light blinking out as she was enveloped.

"Hawke!" Aveline cried, her armor clanking as she rushed forward.

Blue light broke through the murky cloud and she was roughly pulled back against warm leather and an iron chest piece. Fenris released the hold he had around the back of her tunic. She swatted the remaining flies away, her breath shuddering from revulsion. The elf walked around her, peering into the darkness, tilting his head to the side.

Timid footsteps grew from the back of the cave. Hawke quickly conjured up another source of light.

A thin pair of legs entered the light beaming from her palm. A small body appeared, followed by frail arms and the head of a young boy. He stared at them with wide, unblinking eyes. His skin and fancy clothes were smeared with blood.

"Oh, good," Hawke said in relief. "It's only a creepy little boy."

He turned his head to look up at her. She stared back, unsettled by his simple, empty gaze. "Err... hello. Are you Norridge's boy?"

He nodded.

"Are you hurt?"

He shook his head.

"Great. We'll have to get you back home... but, before I can do that, I need to know what to tell your father," she explained.

"The mean men were going to hurt father and mother," the boy said, his head pivoting in the direction of the buzzing flies and dead bodies. "I had to do it."

"What do you mean? Do what?" she asked, stepping forward. Fenris threw his arm out to stop her, giving her a warning glance.

"He promised to help me," the little boy said. "All I have to do is listen to him."

A low growl emitted from the elf's throat, and his grip tightened around his blade.

"Fenris?"

"I've seen this before, in Tevinter. The Magisters would often infuse children with demons to unsettle their opponents," he explained. "Countless times I've seen child abominations set upon unsuspecting guests. They never see it coming. Be careful."

She froze. "You can't mean to say that this boy's a demon?" She laughed nervously, looking to the others for support. They merely responded with horrified expressions. "That's absurd! Little boy, please tell him he's crazy."

"I couldn't let father be hurt. So he talked to me in a dream. And the flies helped me." The boy hesitated, rubbing his head. "He tells me... that you're going to hurt mother! Why? Why would you do that?"

"Hold on- I'm not your enemy here-"

The boy's black pupils seemed to seep oil until the surfaces of his eyes glinted like onyx. The flies swarmed around him, swirling around his raised arms, and shot at the group. Hawke instantly flared a fire spell, blasting the insects as they approached. "You shall not have him!" A rumbling voice cried out, echoing through the cave, shaking the walls. Rock crumbled to the floor.

"Hawke! We need to get out of here!" Aveline exclaimed, struggling to keep her balance on the shaking floor. Isabella bolted, unwilling to spend another second in the fly infested, collapsing cave.

Fenris dashed into the dark cloud, swinging his blade at the demon. She couldn't see anything, but an anguished cry rang out. The ground began to shake violently. The flies dissipated, leaving the little boy lying on his stomach. He looked directly at Hawke with terrified eyes, reaching out to her. "Help me!" he cried.

She ran towards him. Fenris intercepted her, sweeping her up with his free arm and pulling her out of the cave. "Let go!" she ordered, reaching out for the child receding into the distance. "I have to save him!"

A boulder fell from the ceiling, crushing the small child. She froze, her eyes wide in horror as the rest of the cave crumbled after them. Fenris tossed her to safety and rolled to the ground to escape the last of the rocks. Dust and dirt settled in clouds over the collapse, bits of gravel shifted, and all was quiet save for their heavy breathing. Hawke crawled forward on her knees, scraping a trail of sand as she went. She sat by the collapsed entrance, her chest heaving. She gritted her teeth, and turned to the elf, who was pushing himself to his feet.

"Why'd you stop me?" she snapped.

He stared at her in surprise. "Would you rather I left you behind? You should be thanking me," he said, wiping dirt from his chin.

"Thanking you?" she hissed. "You let him die! You practically killed him!"

"And I'd do it again," he said coldly. "He was an abomination."

"He was just a kid! He asked me to save him!" She stared back at the cave entrance. "I know there was a demon... but, for a moment, I saw the child in him..."

"It was a trick," he pressed. "Nothing more. Do not look for compassion where you cannot hope to find it."

"He was... he was just trying to protect his family..." She covered her face with her hands, sinking into the sand.

He was silent for awhile. "One who turns to such means deserves nothing more than death, no matter the intention behind the act."

"How can you say that?" she demanded through her teeth. "Wouldn't you do anything for family?"

"Would you really let desperation drive you to this?" he asked, a threatening edge to his voice.

She lowered her shaking hands and clenched them into fists. She stared hard at the grains of sand, glittering in the sunlight. "I would do anything for my family," she said, her voice trembling.

The elf stepped towards her, his lyrium markings firing up. "Should I just kill you now and spare us the trouble when it happens?"

"Yes," she said weakly, her mind slipping into numbness. She knew all along he saw her as nothing more than a threat. "If the alternative is to stand by and let my family suffer, I would gladly accept death."

He grimaced, and drew back his arm, his gauntlet poised.

"Fenris! That's enough!" Aveline shouted, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it back. "Stand down! Or I will apprehend you!"

He roughly jerked his arm free and stalked off, taking his discarded sword from the beach and turning his back to them.

"Oh, sweet pea," Isabella said with a sigh, setting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Shit, I don't know what to say. It's over. Let's head back."

Hawke pulled herself together and rose to her feet. "Thank you, Isabella, but I'm fine." She inhaled deeply and offered a strained smile. "I was just overwhelmed for a moment, that's all. I get it, he was a demon. What can you do?" She shrugged helplessly. "I need to report this to his father. Maybe I'll still get paid." She forced a laugh, and headed for Kirkwall.

* * *

><p>AN: My edits have finally caught up with my chapters. The only thing I have written as of now is part of scene 8 and the skeleton of the storyboard. Which means chapters may not be as frequent as they were, but I'll try and update as quickly as possible. Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	11. Act I, Scene VIII

Act I, Scene VIII

"The Deep Roads"

* * *

><p>They had done it. With the last mission for Norridge, they had finally procured enough sovereigns to propose a partnership with Bartrand. The eve of the expedition, they celebrated at the Hanged Man.<p>

Hawke couldn't help but feel as though she was celebrating the death of a little boy. It turned out to be quite the damper on her mood, but she didn't want to subject the others to it. Musicians had come to the tavern, strumming their instruments in all their out of tune glory. Isabella had taken it upon herself to teach Merrill how to dance 'Rivaini style' which involved swinging hips and obscene belly motions. The naïve elf was shockingly good at it, disturbing the other party members.

"Is it wrong to find an elf attractive?" Carver asked her in a hushed voice. They were playing cards by the fire.

"Err…" her gaze unconsciously slid to her right, where Fenris was staring intently at his hand, going through futile strategies in his mind. Firelight brightened his hair and shadowed the sharp contours of his face. She frowned and turned away, the events at the cave running through her mind. Neither of them had spoken about it, either to each other or to their companions. She had begged Isabella and Aveline not to gossip about it and they promised not to bring it up again.

"Sister?"

"What?" She jumped in her seat and shook herself from her stupor. "Uh, I'd watch yourself, brother. She's not like Isabella."

"She dances like her," he said, casting the small elf an approving gaze.

Hawke rolled her eyes. "She clearly doesn't realize it."

They returned to their card game. Varric began telling them about a rival his brother once had, and how their relationship came to a sudden and violent end. With the dwarf immersed in his stories, the game began to tip in her favor. She grinned delightedly when she won the pot, pulling the coins in, scraping and clinking across the wood.

"Is Isabella helping you cheat?" Carver asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

She looked to the pirate, who was now laying across a table while patrons poured shots into her mouth. Merrill clapped happily as if was some sort of sport and she was winning. "Err… I think she's a little too busy at the moment."

He scowled, his mood worsening, and sank in his seat.

"And then Bartrand pulled a hatchet from the firewood, and chucked it straight at Dorin's- hey, are you listening, elf? This is the best part!"

"Hm?" Fenris glanced at him, his mind elsewhere. "Yes. Continue."

"No way I'm letting you win this time, sister!" Carver said, noticing the smug expression creeping up his sister's face. "Forfeit the round."

"I may be charitable by nature-" Varric laughed at that- "but I'm not going to throw the game just to boost your ego. Win fairly or don't win at all, dear brother," she said.

"Since when do you play fair?"

"That's beside the point."

He leaned forward threateningly. "If you don't quit, I'm telling everyone your real name."

This piqued the dwarf's interest enough to set his story aside. "That's right… you've never introduced yourself as anything other than Hawke," he mused.

"You wouldn't dare," she said, her voice low and warning.

"Oh. I'd dare, sister."

Panic began to bubble in her gut. Either she sacrificed her coin, or her well kept secret. She couldn't decide what was more important. The stack of gold and silver gleamed beckoningly in the firelight.

Fenris sighed. "Whatever you choose to do, get on with it. I tire of waiting."

"Oooh you better do it Hawke, the angsty elf has spoken," Varric said, wiggling his gloved fingers.

"Fine!" She slapped her cards down on the table. "I'm staying in!"

The others looked to Carver expectantly, wondering just what was so embarrassing about her name. Even Isabella and Merrill had meandered over upon overhearing the conversation.

Carver showed his hand. Hawke's face fell. He laughed and pulled the pot in. "Looks like I win anyway," he said triumphantly, "Eileen."

She banged her head against the table to hide her face. The others looked at her in puzzlement.

"Eileen?" Isabella said, testing the name on her tongue. "I don't get it- what's so bad about it? I was expecting something like Helga or… Aveline."

"It's horrid!" Hawke complained, her voice muffled.

"Oh, I don't know," Merrill said. "It doesn't seem so bad. You could be named after something gross- or a strange blue creature."

"It's not the actual name that bothers her. My dear sister was teased by some boys in the village we were born in," Carver explained. "They called her-"

Hawke shot up and grabbed her brother's arm, her nails digging into his skin as she gave him a wild look. "Don't you dare say it!"

"Ow!" He pulled back, clutching his wound. "That hurts!" He recovered quickly and added, "Eileeny-weeny."

Varric barked a short laugh, but the others were unimpressed, still failing to understand why it got her so worked up.

"So what? I've been called worse," the pirate said. Nobody doubted it.

Varric began to tease her, repeating the nickname over and over. "And then Eileeny-weeny slayed the high dragon. Ha!"

"Yeah… Anyway, one day she got so fed up with them, she scorched their pants with a spell. They weren't hurt, but it got the templars' attention. We were forced to flee to Lothering."

Varric stopped mid insult and gave her a nervous look. "You don't say?" he asked, clearing his throat and straightened himself in his chair. "Hawke," he added respectfully.

"Varric," she said lightly, sensing his fear. "How many pairs of pants do you have?"

"Not nearly enough," he said with a smile.

They finished their game when the wooden clock struck midnight. Hawke took what little she had won and told everyone to rest well. She walked through the streets in with a low, burdened pace. Flies swarmed her thoughts. The little boy's hand reached through the quick beats of a thousand tiny wings. His wide, terrified eyes were fixated on her. He had no idea what was happening, and had looked to her for rescue. She felt the emptiness left behind as his tiny life was snuffed.

She stopped, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles shone white and skin stung. Light footsteps approached from behind. She whirled around, whipping out her father's knife. Her wrist was caught and pulled to the side. She stumbled forward, her eyes flashing up angrily.

Fenris glowered back at her, peering down past the tip of his straight nose, his dark brows furrowed in disdain.

"I need to speak with you," he growled.

She wrenched her hand free and sheathed the knife. "Don't worry," she said lightly. "I'm going straight home. Demonic mass isn't till Tuesday. We sacrifice the blood of virgin puppies and dance naked under the moonlight."

His eyes narrowed.

"We don't kill children, though," she said accusingly. He recoiled, his lips parting, but unable to speak. Her anger subsided at the look on his face. She stared softly at the ground and wrung her hands together. "I'm sorry. I know you did what you had to."

"What happened brought me no peace of mind. This isn't the first time I've encountered a child abomination," he said.

"How did you handle it? The first time you saw one, I mean."

He stared at her, his olive filled with both anger and regret. "I didn't. And because I hesitated, the monster slaughtered many of Denarius's slaves and guards before he killed it."

She gawped at him with wide eyes. "I didn't- I had no idea…"

"That child was one of his experiments. Magic twisted and tortured him until nothing but the demon and childish cruelty remained. It's the most dangerous combination I've ever come across," he said darkly. "I… If I was harsh, then I apologize- but you needed to be made aware," he explained, looking to her desperately. "I may have lost my temper, but I wasn't going to kill you."

Her brow rose. "Really? You had Aveline pretty convinced."

"It was… fortunate she intervened," he admitted helplessly. "But I wouldn't have killed you."

"Just mortally wound? Well, with you that's a start," she said with a small smile.

"You saw him as a child- you weren't resorting to demons or blood magic. I see you as a threat, Hawke, but not as an enemy. If you ever fail, that's when our accordance will end."

She flinched. "Would you really do it? Kill me if I ever turned to blood magic?"

"Without hesitation."

The determination upon his face was clear. She paused in thought, and replied, "good."

He straightened himself. "It was not only you who failed yesterday evening. I wish to accompany you on the expedition, if you'll have me."

"Is that the only reason?" she asked suspiciously.

"You claim your father taught you well, but I've seen wiser men fall to the temptations of demons. You're still vulnerable as you are, especially if your family were threatened. I wish to keep my eye on you."

"Is that concern I detect?" she asked wryly. "Very well, Fenris. You can be my mother while I'm away- feel free to slap my wrist with a ruler if I'm naughty."

"Uhm…" he coughed. "Of course. Thank you, Hawke." He inclined his head and departed for Hightown. He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Just know that it was I who killed him- not you. Don't blame yourself for his death." He vanished behind the shadows of the street.

She blinked into the empty street, a reassured smile gracing her lips. She headed for Gamlen's, her mind free and clear of the dark cloud of flies.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Hawke awoke to Gamlen's muttering. "Even the damned elf lives better than I do," he complained as he cleaned a wooden bowl.<p>

"Morning, Uncle," she greeted cheerfully, slicing a piece of bread from the table grabbing some cheese from the pantry.

"And you! Stop eating up all the stores!" he demanded, waving a dirty washcloth at her.

She grinned, her mouth full of bread, and retreated back into the room. Carver snored loudly, sleeping like a dog on his stomach. She shook her head, and dressed into her stitched leather pants and blue tunic. She sat in an empty chair and began to enjoy her stale meal.

The front door creaked open. "Good morning!" Ander's voice greeted jovially.

"Oh not you again. Get out, you stinking mage!" Gamlen ordered.

"Or maybe not- is Hawke home?"

"Which one? There are three of them, you know."

"Gamlen, don't be rude!" Leandra snapped. "Hello, dear. It's nice to see you again!"

"The pleasure's all mine, Mrs. Hawke," he assured. She giggled girlishly.

Hawke stepped from the room, closing the door shut as not to disturb Carver. "Anders," she said with a grin. "What a surprise."

"Sorry to disturb the happy family, I just needed a moment to speak with you."

"It's no trouble at all. Have you eaten?"

His stomach grumbled. "Does garbage count?"

She laughed and beckoned him to the table. "Have some bread. I'm afraid it's only a step above trash, but it should suffice."

"Ooh don't mind if I do!" He took a seat and began to cut a slice.

"Oh no! No! Absolutely not! I'm not feeding another stray apostate!" Gamlen protested, putting his foot down.

Anders gave him a puppy eyed look.

"Aww but he's so cute, Uncle," Hawke cooed. "Can't we keep him?"

Gamlen, not wanting to suffer under their teasing, grumbled and left the room, slamming the door as he went. Leandra sighed and left to calm him down.

"He'll turn to the drink, he will," Anders said wisely. "Anyways, I came with a proposition..."

"Oh?" she asked, joining him at the table. "Is this about continuing my lessons?"

He shifted his weight in the chair. "We can, if you'd like. I'm sorry I went all... crazy on you."

"It's alright. I'm used to crazy." Her eyes drifted the door, behind which her mother and uncle argued.

"I can see that. But I didn't come to talk about magic. I think you should take me with you on your expedition."

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with the Deep Roads?"

"I don't, but it'd be useful to bring me along. I've been there before and I'm a Gray Warden. Hunting darkspawn is kind of my thing." He explained the benefits to her, of how he could sense them due to the taint in his blood.

"You bring up a good point," she said hesitantly.

"I'm sensing a but...?"

"Fenris expressed interest in going. Can you two work together?"

He looked at her glumly. "If he can manage it, I suppose I can too. But are you sure that's a good idea? What if he goes all psychedelic mage killer on us?"

A laugh escaped her. "Don't worry, he's not as unstable as you think."

He raised a brow.

"Anyway, eat up. We have to meet with Bartrand soon. I'll go wake Carver and we can be on our way."

* * *

><p>They met up with Varric, Fenris and Bartrand's group in Hightown. As Bartrand prepped the men, Leandra came by and pulled her children aside. She looked to her daughter imploringly.<p>

"Please, you must leave Carver," she said. "I cannot bear it if I were to loose you both..."

"Why me?" Carver demanded with a scowl. "If anything, she should stay!"

"Relax, both of you. I planned on him staying, mother. I'm not about to leave you alone," Hawke said firmly.

"What? That's bullshit!" Carver snapped. "I'm sick of you making all the decisions for me!"

"I'm going to protect the both of you," she said. "So sit down, shut up and wait for my return like a good little boy so we can all move into a castle." She sighed, setting her hand against her brow. "Maker... what I mean, is that you need to keep mother safe while I'm away."

"Mother'll be fine. I need to do this, sister. Please."

She stared at him wearily, but declined him.

He scowled. "You need to let me make my choices. Or are you forgetting how I cleaned up your mess at the Foundry? Haven't you learned to trust me already?"

She opened her mouth to protest, then stopped herself. He had a point. She had messed up, and he had swooped in and saved the day, even when her companions were initially immobile.

"If you don't let me do this, sister, then I'll no longer stay by your side. If you won't let me make my own choices then there's no reason for me to stick around."

"Carver!" Leandra gasped. "You don't mean that!"

"Maker..." she sighed exasperatedly. "Fine, brother. You win. You'll accompany me, Varric and Fenris. I'm trusting you with this. Don't let me down, got it?"

A wave of relief washed over his face and he grinned. "I won't, I promise." He turned to their distraught mother. "Don't worry. I can take care of myself," he assured. They bade her farewell, and returned to the main group, who were just beginning to leave.

"Are you sure about this?" Anders asked, pulling her to the side. "I'd like to help anyway I can."

"No, I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything, I'm a bit of an airhead, honestly. But it isn't my call, it's Carver's. I'm sorry to ask this, but can you do me a different favor?" she asked.

"Yes. Anything. And you're not an airhead, you're just... special."

"Yeah, thanks. Can you watch mother? I worry about her."

"I... of course," he said, offering her a smile. He gazed at her with a concerned longing she did not recognize. "Please be careful."

She shuffled her feet, embarrassed. "Err... you know me, Anders," she merely said with a small laugh, turning on her heels and joining her companions on the boat.

* * *

><p>They headed through dark, winding tunnels, guided only by the small light in Hawke's palm. Creatures lurked behind every twist, turn and shadow, leaping out with curved blades and wicked grins. Darkspawn screeched war cries and hissed as they were slashed, shot, burned and maimed. They broke through the tunnel and stepped foot upon a stone road. The dwarven architecture was grand and far reaching, the ceiling enveloped in the darkness of the cave. There was barely any air to breathe.<p>

"Only hell could be this suffocating," Hawke muttered as she struggled to catch her breath, wiping sweat and black blood from her face. She turned to her companions. "Anyone need healing?"

"I think we're good on this end, Hawke," Varric assured, loading a bolt into his crossbow. "Bianca says she's fine."

"Oh good! I can finally relax now that I know the crossbow's feeling alright."

They found themselves in a rectangular room. As soon as the heavy doors shut, an ogre charged from the corner, roaring as it rammed into them, knocking them all to the floor. Stunned, she pushed herself to her feet. The room spun. She took a step back. And another.

"Hawke!" Varric barked. "Don't move, there's a trap right below your foot!"

She froze. The ogre turned to her, snorting, staring at her with those stupid, murderous, beady black eyes. It readied itself for another charge. With a cry, Fenris slashed into its side. The ogre howled, and threw its arm out, knocking the elf on his back. The monster stomped down on his chest and he gasped as the breath was forced from his body. He clawed at the heavy skin, leaving bloody gashes wherever his gauntlets mauled. Varric fired bolts into its leg, but they did nothing to stop it.

"Carver!" she yelled, tossing a force spell at the beast. It barely budged.

Carver drove his sword into the creature's kneecap and it stumbled back, loosing its hold on the elf. It kicked out, sending her brother flying, and grabbed Fenris with its grotesque hand. It brought him close to its face and howled, spitting and bearing its fangs. The markings running along the elf's skin fired up, and he drove his gauntlet through the ogre's head. He tore out a chunk of its brain, the organ splattering with a gushing and squishy pop. It dropped dead, trapping the elf's legs. Carver lifted the body and Varric pulled the elf out. He stumbled to his feet, gasping for breath and clutching his side. He tried to lay his left foot down and winced in pain with his added weight.

"Damn, elf," Varric whistled as he viewed the carnage.

"Are you alright?" Hawke demanded, grabbing his shoulder to give support and brushing the goo from his feathery hair. He froze under her touch, his breath hitching.

"I'm alive," he assured, his voice weak and breathless.

"Not good enough," she argued. "I'm not loosing another person to those things. Where does it hurt?"

Carver hung his head, his mind no doubt wandering to Bethany.

"I think my ankle's broken," he said through his teeth. "And my chest is... inconvenienced."

She moved his hand, and gingerly touched his chest. He winced and hissed in pain.

"It might've broken some ribs," she mused. "Carver! Help him over to the wall, let him sit and against it." He nodded and ducked under the elf's arm.

"I'm fine," he protested. "Let it be. We cannot delay." They ignored him, of course, and placed him against the wall.

She knelt by his feet, pulling up the hem of his pant leg. His ankle was swollen and bruised a terrible green. She gently lay her hand against it, and he winced. She steadied her breathing, and focused. His leg twitched as he pulled it back.

"What're you doing?" he asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowed.

"It's a healing spell. It'll make it better, I promise," she pressed. "Now stop being difficult." His Olive eyes flickered with uncertainty. She sighed and said firmly, "I'm not going to hurt you."

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded and relaxed his leg. She set her hand against the swelling, and summoned a green aura to her fingertips. A cool blanket enveloped his ankle and he shivered as if dipped in ice water. The pain melted away as the relieving aura spread, receded, and flickered off. "Does this hurt?" she asked as she moved his foot.

"No, it- it's fine," he said, sounding somewhat surprised.

"See? Magic isn't so bad, is it?" she said slyly.

He chuckled, then winced in pain, clutching his side and scowling.

She turned to the dwarf. "Nurse Varric?" she asked.

He frowned, not liking the sound of that one bit. "What is it, Hawke?"

"Wrap his foot with one of the injury kits while I mend any broken or bruised ribs."

"Why me? Why not Junior?" he demanded jerking his head over to Carver who shook his head.

"Because he's an idiot," she huffed, ignoring the glare her brother shot her. "Now do it, you're wasting time."

He grumbled and stooped down, digging through the pack. "You owe me, elf."

"Consider it payback for all the money you've taken from me," he replied.

Hawke set to work on his other wound, shyly asking him to remove his chest piece. "I'm not very good at playing doctor," she admitted, setting it to the floor.

"That's reassuring," he said bitterly.

She set her hands on his chest and he cringed, stiffening in pain. She summoned another healing spell, and shut her eyes, remembering Ander's lesson. One rib was broken and he was badly bruised. She mended them, depleting the last of her magic reserves. Her ears fell deaf and her eyes were blinded by the sudden lack of energy. Her head rushed and she heard the echo of her brother calling her name. Her eyes blinked open. She looked up. Fenris was standing before her, pulling her up by her arm.

"I'm fine, she assured them. I just need a drink..." she dug a lyrium potion from her bag, and took a small sip, letting the tingle restore a portion of her energy. Once Fenris reequipped his armor, they left the room, only to be ambushed by a darkspawn platoon. They killed them quickly, however one of the gemlocks pounced Carver with a knife. He cried out, struggling with the little beast before Hawke torched it with a fire spell. She hoisted her brother by the arm and gave him a quick healing spell, just to be safe.

They continued onward until they reached a stone cliff stretching above a wide road.

"Perfect! This leads right where we need to go. Bartrand should be pleased," Varric said. A piercing shriek interrupted them. Hawke swung around, drawing her blade. A red dragon stood between them and the exit, its slick neck curving back. The creature's nostrils flared as if it was sucking it air, and it shot forward, breathing a torrent of fire towards them. They scattered, leaping in all directions. A blazing heat engulfed her and she patted her burning sleeves until they merely smoked.

"Varric, shoot its wings!" Hawke cried as the dragon spread its wings and pumped the air. The overwhelming gust threatened to knock them down the cliff. They clung desperately to the ground.

The stout dwarf withstood the blast. She heard the clicking as Bianca was loaded and fired. The dragon screeched again and the wind stopped. She leaped to her feet and conjured a ball of fire, wishing Anders had taught her how to use frost spells. The spell struck the dragon in the face and it recoiled, snorting and gnashing its teeth. "Fenris, Carver!" she cried, alerting them that their chance was ending.

They rushed each side, driving their swords into the wings and pinning the creature in place. Hawke rushed forward, rolling to doge a quick strike from its fangs. She thrust her sword as it lunged at her, meeting the blade head on. It drove through the dragon's neck. It uttered a dying, gurgling cry, and dropped dead. Gasping for breath, she pulled her sword and cleaned it against the soft skin of the dragon's neck.

Dead on their feet, the four returned to Bartrand and told him the good news. Unfortunately for them, he was so excited he declared that they would set out immediately. They traveled the road with little incident, arriving at a strange cavern full of raw, red lyrium veins. They set up camp. Hawke collapsed against a stalagmite, taking a huge gulp of water and began cleaning her face with a wet rag. Her companions joined her, giving their gear proper maintenance.

"There, there, Bianca," Varric cooed, stroking his crossbow. "Rest easy, you little minx."

"The way you fondle your weapon is disturbing," Fenris noted as he sharpened his blade.

"Let's talk about disturbing, elf. Just what is it you do in the mansion all day?"

"Why I dance, of course. I move from room to room, choreographing routines."

Hawke spit out her water, coughing and spluttering with laughter. "That explains so much!" she exclaimed through her fit.

"I think the elf just told a joke," Varric said with a grin. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"And what, exactly, does that explain?" he asked suspiciously.

She shrugged. "Dancers are so dramatic," she said reasonably.

He scowled. "I am not dramatic."

"And... never mind, he's back to his old self," Varric sighed, and rested his crossbow against a crate they were substituting for a makeshift table. "We should rest up before Bartrand puts us to work again."

Hawke let out a yawn. "Sounds good to me..." She slumped against the stalagmite, letting her eyes flutter shut.

Carver, his face pale, set aside the bread he had been chewing on. His face twisted to a look of disgust.

"Something wrong?" Fenris asked, eyeing him carefully.

"Tastes like shit," he muttered, laying down on his side and putting his back to them.

The elf ignored him, and settled down himself, placing his sword aside. He glanced over at Hawke. Gold hair fell around her shoulders, wet and tangled from blood and sweat. She was already fast asleep, her chest rising and falling, her hands clasped across her lap, a slight smile gracing her features. She looked terrible from the fight, save for that smile. He frowned and turned his back, curling up as he used to sleep years ago on the floors of his old master's house.

* * *

><p>"The door!" Hawke cried as it grated shut, sealing them in the room. They ran down from the altar steps, reaching it just as it settled.<p>

"Bartrand! The door shut behind you!" Varric called out through the heavy iron.

"I know," came the dwarf's reply. "Goodbye, brother."

"Are you serious? You're gonna screw your own brother for a lousy idol!"

"It's not just the idol! This whole place is worth a fortune! No way I'm splitting that three ways!"

"Bartrand!" Varric shouted, slamming a gloved fist into the iron. He got no response. "Shit... I'm gonna kill that bastard."

They stood by the door, seething in rage. Carver rested a hand against his brow, his breathing shallow. Hawke turned to him in concern. "...Brother?" she asked quietly. He shooed her off.

"It's this damned lack of air," he said shortly.

"Come. Let us find another way out," Fenris suggested, indicating the back of the room.

They made their way through the caverns. Blue lyrium veins ran along the broken stone architecture. Shades swooped from the rocks, their shadowy bodies shimmering in the crystalline light. They fought them off with ease. Hawke had grown accustomed to these lesser demons. Stone golems crawled from the rock and the lyrium, glowing, yellow eyes glaring at them as they hurled their thick limbs. Varric called them rock wraiths, and told her they were weak to spirit magic.

_If you weren't such a poor excuse for a mage, Eileen, you'd probably know what the hell that meant. _

They died well enough when blasted with fire, so she didn't think too much of it.

"This is the vault. We should look around," Varric said as they passed through a square of four pillars. A rumbling interrupted their investigation. A giant rock wraith emerged from the ground at their backs. It swung an arm out, brushing them aside like rag dolls. Hawke and Varric split; firing from range and distracting the monster while Carver and Fenris whittled it down. The wraith groaned and struck out with a tempest of energy. They leaned their backs against the pillar to escape it's fury. When the attack ended, the rock lay in a jumbled mess. Hawke walked up to it, crushing the glowing skull beneath her boot. The yellow flickered away, and the stone pieces holding it together stilled.

"Come on, let's see what treasures we can unearth," Varric said excitedly, heading for the vault.

"Yes," Carver said weakly. "Let's get out of here."

They went through the treasures, found the key, and grabbed what they could, making a note to return for profits. As they turned to the door, they found a stoic profane standing in their way. Hawke sensed a strange, unnatural presence from the creature, that seemed to tug at something within her heart. It unsettled her. She drew her blade and approached.

"We each have something the other hungers for," it rumbled, its voice deep, low and mesmerizing.

"Mmhmm. And what might that be?" she tested.

"Do not speak to it," Fenris snarled, readying his blade. "It is a demon."

"One of you will die without my guidance."

They all froze, looking among each other in alarm. "Wh-what do you mean?" she asked fearfully.

"Hawke! Don't buy into it! Even if he speaks the truth, death is preferable to the price it demands," the elf warned.

"There are few ways to escape the darkspawn taint," the demon drawled. "I hold an answer, the answer you need. All I ask is that you let me... borrow you. That you take me to the surface."

"Absolutely not!" Hawke said firmly. Fenris seemed to relax at her defiance.

"Then your brother will succumb to the taint."

Her lips parted. She turned to her brother, her voice small as she spoke, "Carver?"

Carver smiled sadly. "Ha. I guess it's as I feared, then."

A blackness seemed to creep up the veins of his neck, spreading across his face. A white, hollowness took his eyes, replacing the human glow that befit a whole and spirited man.

"I..." she looked back to the demon, who waited in anticipation. "I don't know..."

"Sister, please. Don't screw yourself over with a demon on my account," Carver said, his voice light and weak, yet firm with resolve.

"If you refuse me, your brother's death rests upon your shoulders."

She summoned fire into her palm, and glared at the demon. "I've had just about enough of you," she said, launching the spell at the profane abomination. It wailed as it crumbled, the rocks clattering to the floor. She helped Carver out of the cavern into the open space of the road connecting to their exit.

He stopped her, leaning against a pillar. "You can't just push me through this, sister, as stubborn as you are."

"Just watch me," she growled, tugging at his arm.

"Jeez..." Varric said, scratching the back of his head. "What a mess, Junior. There's no way we'll reach the surface in time."

"The taint is a slow, painful death," Fenris reminded them. The dwarf shot him a glare, and he quieted down.

_No way in hell I'm I returning to mother without him. What would father say if I let both my little siblings die? I can get through this... I can figure this out. There's always a way when you don't give in... right?_

Reality was beginning to sink in. She paused in her struggling, and leaned her forehead against her brother's. She tightly shut her eyes, in part because she couldn't bear to see him, in part because she tried to hide the sloppy tears that threatened to fall. "I shouldn't have let you come..." she whined.

He touched her shoulder, and she looked at him. "It was my decision. Remember?"

She nodded against him, her breath shuddering.

"I need you to grant me one last choice."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Give me father's blade, and let me die fighting the darkspawn like I should have at Ostagar."

The tears fell fresh down her face, and she nodded. She pulled out their father's blade, and set it in his grip. She closed his cold fingers around the hilt, her lip trembling. "You always did ask so much of me, brother," she said with a bitter laugh.

He gave her a pained smile. "You always delivered, sister."

She backed away from him, her entire body trembling from the effort. He lifted himself from the pillar, too weak to carry his own sword, and set off along the opposite direction, heading further into the Deep Roads. She watched him go, shrinking off into the distance until the darkness enveloped him. She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, and turned her back.

"Let's go home," she said.

* * *

><p>AN: Act I is finally over! Thank God! By the way, Hawke's outfit is the "Free Adept Robes" I always had my character run around in. Even though the stats were low. I was always so jealous of those leather pants. sigh.

It broke my heart killing Carver. He's just like my annoying brat of a brother, who stole my stuff and pulled my hair and... hmm... on second thought, maybe I should take a family vacation to the Deep Roads? (kidding of course! probably)

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I'll be firing Act II up soon!


End file.
